


too far to walk alone

by chickenfree



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Closeted Character, Comic Relief, Getting Together, Ice Cream Shop AU, M/M, Oh No There's Only 1.5 Beds, References to Depression, Slow Burn, original characters because i forgot they have actual friends, tw for food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 90,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenfree/pseuds/chickenfree
Summary: “The hazelnut stracciatella,” he says, as always. They might or might not have a bet in the shop about whether he’ll ever vary.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 544
Kudos: 378





	1. Chapter 1

“Hi,” Dan says, automatic.

The guy gapes back. He looks like one of those goldfish at the pet store next door, with the eyeballs that stick out and make them look all scared.

“Hi,” he says back, after an uncomfortably long pause.

Dan’s overshot the mark, as usual. 

This guy comes in all the time. Usually he hides in a crowd, and Dan can ignore him well enough until he gets to the counter, like he isn’t _always_ here and _totally_ recognizable. 

He’s not a terribly good judge of how to hide, though, if he thinks that coming into an ice cream shop in the middle of a downpour is going to be an incognito experience. Dan should be forgiven, for saying hi too early in the script, shooting across the empty shop instead of waiting.

“Can I get you anything?” Dan asks, once he’s finally stepped up to the counter. He wonders sometimes if the guy notices that Dan uses the exact same fake cheerfulness every single time, that he doesn’t bother to vary it enough to make it sound like he’s a person and not a weird shop robot.

“No.”

Dan gapes back, then.

“Okay,” he says, slowly. This is not in the script. This is the opposite of the script. “Can I… get you anything else, then?”

The guy is beet red, suddenly, with a look of complete terror zooming across his face.

“No – that’s – that’s it,” he says, and then bolts for the door.

\--

Dan’s therapist once told him that everyone is the protagonist in their own lives, and that it didn’t matter if he was a bit odd because other people were not actually paying attention to him in the same way that he was paying attention to himself.

That was a fucking lie, apparently.

“Were you the one who killed the hazelnut man?” Sarah asks him the moment she sees him. “I heard he’s dead.”

Dan stumbles for a moment, before he puts the pieces together.

“Oh, shit. Did Ellie tell you what he did?”

“She said you killed a customer,” Sarah says, fake-serious. “And that I should write you up for it.”

“Is there a murder clause?” he asks, clumsily trying to tie his apron behind his back.

“There is now, Daniel.”

“I didn’t kill him. I just think he – may not have survived. Is all. He came in during that stupid storm, right?”

“Right.”

“And I said hi because he’s practically a mate, now. He always comes in during my shift and I’m like – I think of him as a pal. I see him more than I see Alex, and I _live_ with Alex. Anyways. He came in, and I guess I scared him by being too nice, or whatever – that’s typical fucking London, I suppose.”

“Focus,” Sarah says, mild. It’s enough to get his back up, usually, but she’s smiling, and anyways – she doesn’t seem to particularly care if he’s focused, most of the time.

“Fine. So I scared him, and then I asked him if I could get him anything, because – I’m a good employee – “ he says, giving her a pointed look. “And he said no. No! Sarah – what? What do you do when a man says no?”

“You respect his wishes.”

He can’t help the howl of a laugh that escapes. He’s too fucking loud for this little shop. Sarah laughs, too, maybe more at him than at his story. Ellie had laughed more, but she’d heard it on the comedown from a man who’d tried a spoonful of every flavor but one and then had just left, so – maybe it had been funnier in context.

“I know that,” Dan huffs, eventually. “He just left, though. Like. It was _amazing._ Hey, don’t fire me, but if I can figure out how to get that reaction more often, I’ll do it. I loved it.”

\--

 _i saw your friend,_ Alex texts during their shift, days later. _hazelperson lives bitch_

\--

It takes another week for the guy to come in during Dan’s shift. He’s nearly positive he spots him being ‘inconspicuous’ on the sidewalk past the windows at least three times, first. He’s not going to mention that.

“Hi,” the guy says before Dan can. His voice is weirdly quiet, like always. 

“Hi,” Dan says. He tries to soften his own voice out a bit, tries to match this guy where he’s at. 

Right now that’s mainly staring at the floor, fiddling with his shirt collar, apparently.

“What can I get you?” Dan says.

“The hazelnut stracciatella,” he says, as always. They might or might not have a bet in the shop about whether he’ll ever vary.

“Great pick,” Dan says, as always. 

He digs out one scoop, popping it into a chocolate-dipped cone. Usually he zones out in the monotony of it, moving around the counter without registering a single thought. Now, though, he can’t help glancing up at this guy, like maybe something will happen. 

He just looks – nervous, Dan thinks. 

He’s not much older than Dan. He doesn’t seem to keep any particular schedule, and they’ve never seen him with anyone else. 

Right now he’s twisting his thumbs together, wallet clutched in his right hand. He only looks up when Dan says “here you are,” handing his cone over.

“Thank you,” he says softly once he’s paid. He gives Dan the barest smile before he leaves.

\--

“Sorry I was awful,” he says, somewhere about the tenth time. 

Dan looks up, then, awkwardly caught in the middle of scooping.

“What?”

“The other day,” he says. “I mean. Not the other – like. A while ago.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s fine. We see weird stuff all the time.”

Dan thinks that’s the end of it, really. He goes back to scooping in silence, carefully packing as much as he can in. It’s slow today, too cold for anyone else to be in. He finds that he sort of likes the methodical neuroticism of cones, when he has the time to do them properly instead of just whacking them on.

“Sorry,” the guy says softly. “I’m not very good at talking to people.”

Dan resists the urge to roll his eyes and say _go to therapy about it then._ Alex’s voice echoes in his head.

He falls into awkward silence instead, since he – can’t really be trusted not to say something annoying. He’s pretty sure he rings the guy up, by rote, but doesn’t remember anything he says.

\--

He falls asleep in Alex’s bed, one night. It’s safer there.

\--

Ellie opens for him. Alex closes, he thinks. He’s not really sure.

\--

Alex gets caught as usual between hovering over Dan at home and the fact that they’re covering most of his shifts so he can be home in the first place. Eventually they settle on dragging him in, leaving him to sit sullen in the office like an office cat.

“Can’t nap here,” Dan protests, hoarse even to his own ears.

“You can if you try hard enough,” Alex says grimly, waving a vague hand at the floor. They pull on their apron and ignore Dan’s pointless glaring.

\--

Alex doesn’t say they’re tired of his shit. They never do. 

Dan knows, though. He’s not stupid enough to miss the edge of desperation that creeps in.

\--

Ice cream is – bullshit, he’s decided. 

He doesn’t want to grimace at a happy child, for god’s sakes, but – ice cream _isn’t_ that great. It’s not screaming great, no matter how the rhyme goes.

His face gets sore from clenching his stupid mouth shut so often.

It slows down towards the end of his shift. There’s no rhyme or reason to it; one minute they’re so busy he gets lost in the flow for a bit, and the next there’s absolutely fuck all to do. He stares at the clock on the wall until it feels like time stands still.

The bell above the door chimes.

“Hi,” hazelnut man says.

“Hi,” Dan says, blank. He’s so close to leaving. He’s so fucking tired.

The guy eyes him oddly for a minute. Last Dan checked he looked like shit, so he supposes that’s fair.

“Can I get a scoop of hazelnut stracciatella? Um, on a chocolate cone?” he says eventually, carefully pronounced like he thinks Dan might fall apart if they miscommunicate.

Dan nods, vague. It takes him a minute to even figure out where his scoop is. 

He goes to dig the ice cream out, but – he doesn’t know what possesses him.

“Hey,” he says, catching the guy’s eye. He’s looking up at Dan, for once in his ice cream riddled life. “This is weird, but.”

“Okay?” the guy says, slowly.

“You know the coffee place two doors down?”

He nods.

“If I – don’t tell my boss. But if you bring me a coffee I’ll, like, swap you. I’ll pay for this.”

The guy smiles, then, just a bit. Like they have a secret. He nods again. “I’ll be back in a minute?”

\--

Dan dips under again before he can catch his breath from the first time. He thinks it’s just aftershocks, but – fuck, it feels like the real thing all over again.

\--

He’s only up front while Alex gets lunch. It’s quiet, still, the way weekday mornings usually are. 

The door pings. He braces himself, for a moment, before realizing it’s the hazelnut guy again. He doesn’t think he _actually_ breathes a sigh of relief, but – well.

The guy eyes him, for a moment. 

“Hi,” Dan manages.

“Do you want to trade for a coffee?” he asks, instead of replying. His face has gone all worried, creased between his eyebrows. He looks – gentle, like. Genuinely concerned in a way that Dan struggles to understand.

Dan’s caught in a wave of static for a minute. He desperately wants to say yes, but he also really can’t afford it. He shouldn’t be fucking bartering ice cream away at work, anyways. He doesn’t actually have a backup plan if he ever ends up on Sarah’s bad side. He doesn’t know what Alex will say, and they’re already on the fence with him right now.

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying. “Please.”

The guy nods, giving him a shy smile before he leaves. 

Dan doesn’t know what to do while he’s gone. He makes a vague attempt at figuring out how many bartered ice creams he can afford before this goes to shit. The math is too much, though. He mostly just stares at the fake marble pattern on the counter, wondering where rocks come from.

The door dings again. Dan starts. He realizes he could have started putting the cone together while he was waiting. He grabs his scoop from where Alex left it, then a cone from the rack, and zones out again while he whacks everything together.

His coffee is already on the counter when he looks up, passing the cone over.

“Thanks,” the guy says, softly. “Enjoy it.”

—

“What’s this?” Alex says.

Dan shrugs. He’d dodged into the office as soon as he saw them in the window, flopping into their one chair. 

“Hazelnut man traded me,” he says.

Alex makes a face. 

“I paid for the cone,” Dan says. “I’m not – I covered it, I mean.”

He looks up, and they still look skeptical. They’re turned halfway away from him, pulling on their own apron again. Dan’s not stupid, though. He winces. He knows he’s not particularly reliable about his budget. 

“He got me a muffin, too,” he protests, knocking the bag out from behind his coffee. The guy had left it on the counter next to his cup, and Dan hadn’t even noticed until he’d already left. Alex glances at it. Dan watches about ten expressions drift over their face. 

“Glad you’re eating,” they finally settle on. 

The door dings, then, and Alex turns away entirely. Dan retreats into his stupid brain cave, but – at least he has a free muffin. 

—

“Shit’s fucked,” Alex murmurs. 

Dan’s curled against them on their bed, head rising and falling slowly with their breaths. Dan’s too tired to do much more than nod in agreement. Alex tangles their fingers in his mussed hair, gently tugging where it’s gone knotted. 

––

He ends up with a shift alone, the next day. Alex calls in sick, which is essentially code for _this revising is going to make me cry more than the rent will._ Dan doesn’t want to work alone and Alex doesn’t particularly want to let him, either, but – the reality is that it’s nearing the end of the semester, and Dan’s the only one out of all of them who doesn’t have exams or a kid or both to worry about. 

He wanders through most of the morning. Ellie comes in an hour early for her afternoon shift. She acts like she just happened to be in the neighborhood with nothing to do, but Dan catches her watching him more than once. 

The door dings. Dan looks up from refilling the napkin dispenser, which Ellie has assigned him for no good reason. It’s half full, anyways.

Hazelnut man is standing there in the middle of the shop, looking like a deer in the headlights. He has a cup of coffee in one hand and a muffin-shaped bag in the other. He’s staring straight at Ellie.

“Hi,” Dan says, awkwardly.

He blinks back. This is – probably not in line with his script, Dan thinks.

“What can I get you?” Ellie says, cheerful as ever.

“Um. A scoop of the hazelnut stracciatella?”

“Great! And you were going to trade in the coffee to Dan, our shop goblin?”

“Elizabeth!” Dan squawks, turning back to her. She grins up at him.

“Yeah,” the guy says, soft. “If that’s okay.”

Dan’s suddenly feverish. He thinks he’s just blushing, but his vision goes blurry for a moment and the chills don’t feel right.

He can’t – he can’t keep doing this. He’s already got the coffee and Dan can’t keep buying coffee every day, can’t rely on a fucking free muffin that he scammed from a customer as his lunch. 

“Our manager said I can’t,” he lies. “Sorry.”

“Oh,” he says, looking for a moment at the cup in his hands. He puts it on the counter, carefully. “I don’t really want this, so. Um.”

“I’ll cover it,” Ellie says, all fake-cheerful. “We just won’t tell her. Thanks for the coffee.” 

She already has his cone ready, passes it over when he notices. Dan turns back to the stupid napkin dispenser so he doesn’t have to watch.

—

“You think he likes you?”

“Ugh,” Dan mumbles.

Alex laughs, picking off another chunk of their half of the muffin.

“You could date him. You could get free coffee for like, I don’t know, a month before you get tired of each other? That’s a good deal,” they say, dreamy. 

“You sound like my father who’s going to sell me into marriage for a nice goat.”

“I would,” Alex says, grinning.

“I hate you,” Dan says, flicking a crumb at their head. 

—

Dan rarely gets a day off, this time of year. Sarah’s even busier than last year, now that she’s in her master’s program. Alex is swamped. Ellie is technically only part time. Dan – begs off enough that he’s always sort of playing catch up, always behind in a way he can’t quite match numbers to.

Hazelnut guy manages to avoid him for an entire four days. It must be some kind of record. 

Dan’s managing to hang on to his customer service smile for the most part. He hasn’t snapped at anyone in – at least a couple of hours.

“Hi again,” the hazelnut guy says when he gets to the front of the line. He looks a bit sheepish, for once. Dan supposes he thinks they’re friends or something, now.

Dan yanks a smile onto his face, even though he imagines it’s gone a bit wild. He doesn’t dislike this man, but he’s straining at the seams, and hazelnut guy has shown a bit of a propensity for yanking at threads.

“Hi,” he chirps, fake as shit. “Missed you yesterday.”

The guy goes bright red. He stumbles over the rest of their stupid scripted interaction, suddenly shy and barely looking at Dan again. There’s – some kind of satisfaction in that, Dan thinks. He likes it, sometimes, when he can knock someone off their game before they can do it to him. 

\--

“How’s your new husband today?” Alex calls from the dining table.

“Fuck you,” Dan blurts. “Fuck off.”

Alex is staring at him when he comes in, beelining for the cupboard to dig out a mismatched glass. They don’t look surprised, exactly.

“Fuck this,” Dan mumbles into his water. 

“You’re lovely today,” Alex says, turning back to their textbooks with a little shake of the head. Dan decides to pretend not to hear.

\--

Dan creeps into the living room, hours later. Alex is wrapped up in some movie that Dan’s pretty sure he’ll never see the first half of.

“Are you done being a dick?” Alex asks, not taking their eyes off the screen.

“Maybe,” Dan says. “At least with you.”

Alex snorts. They drape an arm over the back of the couch in silent invitation, tapping a finger along the back of the cushion until Dan pads over and curls into their side with a sigh.

\--

If Dan can’t have the emotion that’s bubbling to the surface, then – he just won’t have anything at all. 

He rings up customer after customer and can’t remember what they ordered or what he charged them. No one questions him, so he doesn’t think he’s making mistakes, but – he doesn’t know that, really. He thinks he smiles, and he thinks he’s polite enough. He doesn’t think anything goes drastically wrong. It just wouldn’t be the first time he’s thought that, is all.

“Hi,” he hears Ellie say. He’s busy scrubbing at a spill at the counter. 

“Hi,” he says, without looking up.

“Hi,” another voice says at the same time as Dan’s. 

He glances up, then. Hazelnut guy is looking between them with a tilted smile, and – of course. Of course Ellie says hi to him even when she’s not on the clock yet. Of course she’s not a dick for no reason, of course she doesn’t just blow off pleasantries like that.

“Hi, love,” Ellie says as she rounds the corner of the counter. She takes one look at him and he’s pretty sure he can hear the sigh in her voice when she continues. “I’ve got this, Danny.”

He can’t move. He just stands there, holding the towel limp in his hand, staring back. Ellie goes to get her apron on, but when she turns back she can’t quite stop herself from giving him a once-over, like – like there would be part of Dan that’s visibly missing. Maybe there is. He doesn’t know anymore.

“Mate,” she starts saying, turning away from him. It takes Dan a moment to realize who she’s even talking to. He feels a flash of sureness that he’s been like this all day and that people have been covering for his mistakes and that – and that. He can’t go down that path. 

“ – trade you for a coffee?” he hears, filtering through the static. 

“Is that alright?” hazelnut guy asks. 

Dan’s the one that lied to him. Dan did that. Dan made it look like they don’t know what they’re talking about, like the rules are different one day to the next. 

He bolts before he can hear the rest. 

He only makes it a few long steps into the alley between their shop and the next before he realizes his phone is in the office. He’ll have to drag his sorry ass back in there to get it. 

He crumples onto the ground, instead. It’s so fucking stupid. He could just go home and leave it, but – it just doesn’t feel right. He can’t look Ellie in the eye right now.

He tilts his head back against the wall, trying to take a deep slow breath. There’s a pigeon cooing on the roof.

He sits there for a long time, he thinks, before he hears footsteps.

“Hey,” the guy says, quiet as ever. “She said you’d be here.”

He holds a coffee cup out to Dan, muffin bag pinned between his long fingers.

“Thanks,” he says, but he doesn’t take it.

“Can I sit with you a minute?”

Dan blinks up at him, slow.

“Otherwise I have to go to work,” the guy says. “And I’d rather – uh. Sit here. Or anything.”

Dan manages a clumsy smile, then. He knows what that feels like. He reaches for the coffee. It’s reassuringly warm, still, like it’s alive or something. 

The guy folds his weirdly gangly legs until he’s sitting near Dan, angled in his direction.

“Danny, right?”

“Just Dan.”

He nods. “I’m Phil. So.” 

Phil doesn’t continue, after that. Dan doesn’t find out what the _so_ was about. He has a cup of ice cream, today, instead of his usual cone. 

“Where d’you work?” Dan says, eventually, after Phil’s managed a few bites of his ice cream. He doesn’t particularly want Phil to open up the questions.

Phil shrugs. 

“Um. Kind of wherever.”

Dan makes a face.

“Freelance,” Phil says. “I just edit videos for whoever’ll hire me.”

“Oh. That’s cool?”

“It’s shite,” Phil says, weirdly cheerful. “But thanks.”

Dan doesn’t know what to say to that. He takes a long swig of coffee, considering.

“Is that why you’re an ice cream addict?”

Phil looks up from his own cup, grinning. “Yeah. Well, and it’s your fault.”

“What?”

“The ice cream is too good. If it was worse ice cream I wouldn’t be.”

Dan thinks he must be blushing. Probably, from the way Phil glances away from his eyes, studying his face for a moment. “I don’t make it, really. That’s all Sarah and Ellie.”

“Ellie’s the one in there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Phil nods. “I like her. She’s always, like – “

“A kindergarten teacher?”

Phil smiles. “Right.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but he dimples anyways. She’s _his_ kindergarten teacher, certainly, even if he’s already nearly twenty-one. 

“She’s good,” is all he manages to say, quiet. Phil doesn’t say much to that. 

“D’you like working there?” Phil asks, after a few more spoonfuls. Dan hasn’t finished his coffee, either. He’s mainly just holding the cup up to his chin, wondering at the warm steam coming off of it.

“It’s alright,” he says. He doesn’t know if it’s worth lying to Phil and acting like he loves it. He doesn’t know if it would be worse to make it seem like he does and he’s just bad at showing it.

He doesn’t know how to say that it’s the best option he’s got, anyways.

Phil doesn’t seem particularly thrown by his answer, at least.

“I thought I would love my job,” Phil says, pausing to pop another bite of ice cream in his mouth. “And then I graduated and it’s like – it’s stupid? It’s not even creative. I just edit text over commercials and then they pay me five quid and these – these company blokes act like they’ve given me this great gift. It’s not even – I didn’t _do_ anything.”

“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say,” Dan says.

Phil huffs. He makes a cranky face that mostly makes Dan want to laugh. “Oh, I can talk all day about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Especially to you. You’re not my mum and you don’t care about my loans,” Phil says. Dan – appreciates the clarification.

He knows what it’s like to have his mum worry over him like that, but he doesn’t know what it’s like to succeed and still not like it. Dan’s rarely surprised when he doesn’t like things. It’s also rarely something he’s committed much to. 

He doesn’t say that. He’s never seen that conversation go well.

“Are you in school, still?”

Dan shakes his head. He drinks down more of his coffee, instead. Phil looks like he might want to ask, for a moment.

“Just the shop, for now,” Dan murmurs. He tries to phrase it like it’s temporary.

There’s more footsteps. They both look up. Dan’s nervous for a second, broad daylight or not, but – it’s just Ellie, still wearing her apron, holding his phone in her hand. 

He smiles up at her and he thinks it’s mostly successful, by the way her eyebrows raise a bit. 

“Hi,” she says. “Thought I’d bring you this before you go.”

“Thanks, mum,” he says. She hands it over, but she doesn’t quite leave. For a moment her fingers comb into his curls. He tips his head so he can look up at her. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling back.

\--

Phil leaves not long after that, saying something about needing to go back to a meeting. Dan makes his way home, too.

He still feels on edge, a bit, but he manages to make dinner. It’s just pasta and shitty jarred sauce that they’ve had in the cupboard for weeks, but the smile from Alex that rewards him when he puts a bowl down next to their books is worth it.

\--

Dan can’t say that he’s really that much better, the next day. He thinks it’s going to go okay, until it’s two in the morning and he’s staring at the shapes on his bedroom ceiling for no good reason. 

He wanders through opening the shop. He’s not – there’s nothing pulling at his feet like yesterday, but it’s like he’s watching through gauze. 

Alex comes in early for their shift, looking harried like they hadn’t entirely meant to arrive at this time. Dan decides not to question it. The afternoon rush picks up just as they arrive, anyways, and he breathes a sigh of relief that there’s two of them. He can’t bring himself to leave, even as the end of his shift drifts by.

Hazelnut – _Phil,_ Dan corrects – comes in at some point, buried in a crowd.

He’s holding a cup, again, and he has this hopeful look on his face when he gets to Dan’s counter.

Dan swallows hard. 

“I can’t,” he says, quiet. “Sorry, mate, I really – can I get you –”

“I don’t need anything,” Phil says. “Just wanted to bring this.” 

Dan freezes, for a moment. He takes it from where Phil puts it on the counter, and he thinks he mumbles a thank you. Phil leaves, and Dan awkwardly hides the cup before he turns back to the next customer. It’s a mum with kids who are all very polite and also very determined to get the apple crisp flavor even though they’re nearly out; the youngest one ends up near tears until Dan proves that he can dig out a bit more from the bottom of the tub, just enough to cobble together one last cone. 

“Dan,” Alex says, tapping on his arm as soon as the family leaves. “Go, please.”

“What?” he says.

Alex nudges at his shoulder until he turns away, and then they yank at his apron ties until they come loose. They pull the neck over his head, too, when Dan doesn’t move. “C’mon, babe. You’re done. Get out of my ice cream house.”

Dan nods. He bolts before anyone else can come in, before Alex can realize the fatal mistake they’re making in letting him leave. He grabs his coffee out from its hiding spot at the last second.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where’s hazelperson?” Ellie asks. There’s a bit of a whine creeping into her voice. “Does he not know that I need him?”

Dan tips his head, looking up at her from where he was napping on the office desk. They’ve both barely had time to take a breath all morning, with the warm weekend. She must have found a break in the crowd somehow.

“Phil?” he asks, bleary.

Ellie wrinkles her nose. “Is that what he’s called? Phil Hazelperson? That’s so… bland, mate.”

“Why d’you need him?”

“I need his coffee.”

“His coffee?”

She huffs. “I’ll come back when you’re alive, if you’d –”

“He brings _you_ coffee?”

“If you aren’t here, Daniel,” she says, fake-patient. “Then he brings the coffee and he has to give the coffee to me, because otherwise it would be weird. And you’re dead right now, so I would get the coffee, if he wasn’t betraying me.”

“I’m not dead,” Dan mumbles. The door chimes again, and she rolls her eyes before darting back out.

\--

Alex is at the scooping counter when Phil comes in again. 

He’s empty-handed. 

He ends up at Dan’s register soon enough. He smiles, but he doesn’t quite meet Dan’s eye when Dan smiles back. 

He leaves, and he’s – just like anyone else. 

\--

The early morning light is casting weird shadows across the floor of the shop, slanting and creating bright flares of light on the ice case.

The door dings. Dan’s just flipped the sign a minute ago, still tidying the stacks of supplies from where Alex left them haphazard and tilting last night.

He turns, and Phil’s standing in the middle of the floor. He’s got his lower lip caught between his teeth, and this oddly pinched look on his face.

“Hi,” Dan says.

“Hi,” Phil says. “Can I – um. The – hazelnut, please?”

There’s a part of Dan that wants to say _hazelnut **what,**_ but – he stops himself.

“Fun night out?” he asks, instead. He turns to get his scoop out from where Alex left it.

“No,” Phil says, so quiet that Dan barely hears him, even in the empty shop. 

Dan pops back up from behind his counter.

“Bad night out?” he says, slowly. 

Phil gives him a little shake of the head. “Can I just – please.”

“Hey,” Dan says, quiet. “Can I trade you for a coffee?” 

“Thought you couldn’t.”

He did absolutely say that, but – he thinks of the times Alex has stopped for a minute because Dan was being odd. “I’ll make an exception.” 

Phil nods, slowly. He leaves. Dan busies himself with cobbling together a cone, mostly to have something to occupy his hands for a minute. 

The door dings again after a bit, and when he looks up Phil looks about ready to fall over. He comes back to the counter, then, putting the coffee on the ledge so Dan can take it and pass his cone over.

Dan studies him, considering. 

“Sorry,” Phil says. “It was – they were – it’s busy.”

“Morning rush, I guess,” Dan says. He tries to be mild. “Hey – you want to sit?”

He points at one of the little bar stools shoved under the counter that runs along the far wall. It’s not much, and Sarah’s always complaining that it’s not family-friendly to have everyone seated in a row, but it’ll do for what Dan needs right now. 

Phil nods, silent. He shuffles towards one. Dan ducks around from behind his counter, taking his coffee with him.

“Hi,” he says again, once they’re both settled at stools.

“Hi,” Phil mumbles.

“D’you wanna, like, talk?” Dan asks.

Phil shakes his head. He seems to have run out of words entirely. Dan focuses on his coffee, instead of – uh. Instead of Phil licking his ice cream with a rather dazed look, which is not what Dan is focusing on at this moment.

Dan lets himself sneak a look just in time to watch Phil take a bite out of the top, which is – helpful.

“Did you chew that,” he blurts out.

Phil nods. There’s a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Dan thinks.

“This ice cream’s my only friend,” Phil mutters.

“Rough night?”

“Shut up,” Phil says, quiet. “No talking.”

Dan blinks at him, for a moment. Phil doesn’t look like he’s in a joking mood at all, but Dan doesn’t feel particularly offended, for some reason. “Bossy,” he says, eventually.

Phil shrugs, like he couldn’t care less. His cone’s almost done. He crunches down the dregs of it, haphazardly ripping off the paper wrapper in a way that makes Dan want to roll his eyes.

“Thanks,” Phil says, when he’s finished the last bit.

“Did that help?”

“The ice cream’s good.”

Dan – wants to laugh. He wants to roll his eyes at the mess Phil’s made on his hands and then hastily wiped on a single napkin, and he wants to ask a million questions, and he wants to laugh at this belligerent insistence that the ice cream is what helped, like Dan wasn’t even here. He doesn’t, though. He clamps his mouth shut for a moment and then smiles.

“I’m glad, mate,” he says, softly. “Have a good one.”

He doesn’t see Phil leave, too busy with trying to re-organize the stupid way that Alex left the cups stacked.

\--

“Alright, you’ll be good?”

Alex waves a vague hand in his direction, too distracted with digging out a scoop of the blueberry cobbler for someone.

Dan shakes his head, hanging up his apron anyways.

_love u bye i’m leaving,_ he texts as he ducks out. Ellie’s coming in later, anyways, but Alex has a bit of a history of panicking when they turn around and Dan has “mysteriously” left. 

_pasta,_ Alex replies, nonsensical. _please or i’ll die_

“Dan,” he hears someone say as he’s about to turn down the alley towards home. He wheels around. Phil’s standing there, not far from him.

“Hi,” Dan says. “Hi again.”

“Hi,” Phil says. He looks away, twisting his fingers together. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

Phil shrugs. “Being here.”

“It’s a public sidewalk, mate. I don’t mind.”

Phil’s mouth twists, for a moment. It’s a weird, bitter look that Dan can’t quite parse. He’s never really seen Phil anything other than cheerful or shy or just – nondescript, really. They must’ve dubbed him Hazelnut Man almost a year ago, and somehow Dan’s never seen him be particularly expressive.

“Phil,” he says, gently.

“Have a good day,” Phil says, abrupt.

“D’you like coffee?”

Phil nods, silent again.

“Come on, then.”

Dan leads him down the block, only glancing over his shoulder once to check if Phil’s following. The coffee place is cute. Cute enough. It’s a bit garish for Dan’s tastes. He hasn’t actually been much, even though it’s just down the block. They did a swap, once, when the ice cream store first opened, as a weird meet-the-neighbors thing. He recognizes the barista, he thinks, but – just not well enough to actually ask.

“Hi. Could I get two medium coffees with – uh, room for cream on one, please?”

“To the top on the other?”

“Yeah. Please,” he says, smiling a bit. 

He pays and turns to find Phil hovering a few steps behind him. 

“Come on, come sit.”

“Bossy,” Phil mumbles. He goes along with it, anyways. They find a pair of weird, muddy-colored chairs in a corner, which Dan privately thinks look like absolute shit. They’re comfortable, at least.

He sits. Phil sits. They sit there. Dan stares at Phil; Phil stares at the floor.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Dan says, when it’s clear that Phil isn’t going to explain himself. “But you have to tell me if you’re okay, alright?”

Phil looks like he’s curling into himself. He’s always sort of stooped, but it’s like he – collapses, a little bit.

He shakes his head, barely. It looks like it takes something out of him.

“Are you safe?” Dan asks, gently. “Like – I mean. You know.”

Phil pauses, mouth twitching. He shrugs. 

“I’m just alone all the time,” he finally says. “No one’s – I don’t know.”

“No one’s around?”

Phil shrugs, again. His hands are twisting together, long fingers knitting into each other, curling and pulling at each other in ways that seem uncomfortable. “My brother. But.”

“Have you talked to him?”

Phil’s mouth pinches shut. He takes a long sip of coffee, like he’s forgotten it was there. He’s closed off in a way that Dan isn’t sure if he should push against.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Phil says, instead of answering. 

“Sometimes we just need people, Phil,” Dan says. It sounds fucking trite, like something his therapist would say. Dan vaguely wonders if Phil’s heard it before.

Phil levels him with a skeptical look. “Sometimes we just have to accost someone from the ice cream store,” he says.

Dan snorts.

“I mean, I’m people, I think.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, quiet. “Thanks.”

They both fall into silence. Dan sips his coffee, questions rattling around in his brain like he’s replaced most of it with a pinball machine. _What happened,_ he wants to ask so badly. _What can I do. Does this happen all the time and I just didn’t realize._ He looks up, though, and Phil’s finally settled a bit. He’s staring into his mug with a blank look that might worry Dan on another day, but – he knows that feeling, of just being empty and still, stuttering to a stop like a bad carnival ride. 

“Are you just gonna go home and be alone again?” he asks, instead.

“My brother’ll be home.”

“He lives with you?”

Phil shrugs, twitching again. “I live on his couch.”

“Okay,” Dan says, carefully. He’s not going to ask why that’s different from living together. “And he’ll be home?”

Phil’s fidgeting, then, clumsy fingers fumbling with the mug handle and pulling at his sleeves. “For an hour,” he says, quiet. “He works nights.” 

Dan pictures walking out and turning left when Phil turns right. He can’t – he can’t imagine it. His brain starts rolling through a slideshow of murky images, of Dan standing on the sidewalk because he can’t leave, or of – well. He can’t, is all.

“You can say no, mate, but – can you just come home with me?” he asks, eventually.

Phil finally catches his eye. He’s barely looked at Dan this whole time, really. He stares back at Dan for a long time, forehead creased with worry, before finally giving him a little nod.

\--

“Pasta me!” Alex yells as soon as they’ve closed the front door.

“Pasta yourself!” Dan yells back, automatic. 

Phil jolts. He’s tucked into the corner of the couch, about as far from Dan as he can get. Dan’s got fucking – Zoo Tycoon open on their old Xbox. Alex pulls it out when Dan is well and truly dead to the world, beyond the point of whining. Phil had perked up as soon as Dan had mentioned it. He’s being no help at all, but once in a while he’ll break the monotony of Dan running around cleaning up fake tiger shit to give a controversial opinion like _I think pandas are cute._

“Should we have – pasta’d?” Phil asks, turning his head towards the racket with a worried look.

“They can do it,” Dan says. He’s driving his little zoo buggy in circles around the giraffe enclosure for no good reason.

“They?” Phil asks. “How, um. How many?”

Dan turns away from the screen, finally. He – didn’t think this through that well, maybe. He’d just assumed, but – Phil’s in his house. In Alex’s house. He’s not entirely sure that that was a good decision.

“I have one roommate,” he says, slowly. “They just came in. I don’t think they brought anyone.”

Phil doesn’t really react. He’s been quiet for the most part, anyways, but Dan kind of needs a reaction on this one.

Alex wanders in, holding a hobnob in their hand. 

“That’s dessert,” Dan tells them, mostly out of habit.

“Hazelnut man is in my house,” Alex says, instead of taking the bait. “And you’re playing fucking Zoo Tycoon. And you didn’t make pasta.”

“That’s Phil. And he’s sad and you’re going to eat hobnobs for dinner either way, so I didn’t see why I should bother.” 

“I’m not sad,” Phil protests. 

“You sound great,” Alex tells him. 

Phil smiles at that, shy, even though Dan is almost completely sure that Alex was being sarcastic. Alex flashes him a smile before they leave, muttering something obnoxious about how Dan never learned to cook anyways.

“What,” Phil starts once Alex is gone. He doesn’t go farther than that. 

“They don’t want to have a gender, so they don’t,” Dan says. He tries to keep his voice down so Alex doesn’t hear, matter-of-fact like it’s not up for discussion.

“Oh,” Phil says, softly. He tugs at the raggedy blanket they keep on the couch. Dan desperately wants to ask _are you going to be cool or not,_ but – he doesn’t really know if that’s the words he wants. He’s never been particularly good at this part.

“I’m from the north,” Phil says. Dan’s busy trying to figure out what type of banana the giraffes eat.

“Okay,” he says. He can hear how flat his voice is. 

“I’m like – the only gay person, back home. I think. I mean. I don’t know,” Phil continues, quiet. “The only one who’s out, I guess.”

Dan wanders around the screen with a big boulder hovering in the air for a minute, processing that. Alex has muttered about this topic enough that Dan can’t really feign stupidity, but – Phil seems sincere, he thinks.

“Are you gonna be cool?” he blurts out, halfway through a different thought. Phil looks a bit taken aback, for a second. Dan can’t really explain why he’s so protective over Alex – and protective over himself, sometimes. He can’t explain that he didn’t think this through in the first place, or that he would dropkick Phil out the door if he had to. He can’t explain how muddy this is in his own head.

“Yeah,” Phil says, soft. 

It’s late by the time they eat. Alex mumbles something vague about getting _most_ of their revising done when Dan asks, which is kind of a non-answer, but he lets it go. They have pasta with pesto and bits of a random loaf of sliced sandwich bread that Alex makes a whole drama out of toasting. 

Phil’s subdued in a way that Dan thinks is a bit standoffish, but – he doesn’t really know him well enough to tell.

“This is good,” Phil manages, in a lull between Alex and Dan’s bickering. 

“Thanks,” Alex says, annoyingly pleased. “Made it myself.”

“You put a jar of stuff in a box of other stuff,” Dan mutters. 

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” Phil asks. Dan’s pleased that he’s talking, now, but he’s sort of just – throwing spaghetti at a wall, Dan thinks.

“Cheesecake,” he says.

“Playdough,” Alex offers. 

Phil’s eyebrows knit together, glancing between the two of them. “No,” he says, quiet and definitely horrified.

“Cheesecake’s actually really good,” Alex says.

“Cheese isn’t good,” Phil says. 

“Well,” Alex says, cheerfully. “It takes all sorts of horrible people to make a village.”

Phil squirms, going back to focusing on his own plate. Dan’s heard that he and Alex are a bit much, enough times to recognize this response. He pokes at Alex’s thigh under the table.

“Are you going out tonight?” Alex asks, instead. This conversation is all over the goddamn place. 

“No,” Dan says. “I mean – no? I don’t think so. No, I open tomorrow. Are you?”

Alex shrugs. “Maybe,” they hedge. 

They have a whole life, out there, that Dan can’t really keep up with. He goes through phases of tagging along on the weekends. He likes the music, and the people, and standing in a strangely lit room where no one really pays attention to him. He can be nondescript in a way his tall loud body usually isn’t. It’s just – a lot, though.

Phil’s sagging, across their little table, looking like he’s in no state to go much of anywhere. Dan thinks he might be happier in his own home, but – he’d said he’d be alone, on a couch in his apartment with his brother that he doesn’t seem to talk to. Dan doesn’t know where he even lives. He assumes it’s within walking distance of the shop, but Phil hasn’t said one way or the other.

“You want to go?” Dan asks, eventually. Alex nods. “I’ve got the dishes, then. Scram.”

\--

“We’ve got options,” he says, once he’s done with tidying. He’s left Phil on the couch again, shooing him away when he offered to help. “You can sleep here, but Alex will wake you up, probably. We have an air mattress, but it’s – fucked, honestly. You might as well sleep on the floor instead of that.”

He pauses, hesitating.

“Okay,” Phil says, hesitant.

“Or you can just sleep in my bed,” Dan says. “But. Um. I’m not giving it up if I have to be up tomorrow, sorry.”

“You really sold the other options,” Phil says, quiet. 

He follows Dan through the flat, brushes his teeth with his finger like he’s practiced at it. Dan hands him an old pair of trackies that don’t quite fit. Phil mumbles that he doesn’t mind. He lays down next to Dan, after, but – over the covers, stiff as a board.

“You want a gold mask?” Dan says, after he’s turned the lights out and Phil hasn’t moved an inch in a few minutes. 

“What?”

“Cross your arms like this,” he says, rolling onto his back and crossing his hands over his chest like a mummy.

Phil huffs, instead. He doesn’t move.

“C’mere.”

Phil tips his face towards him, then. Dan can’t see much of him in the dark, just a vague outline and a sliver of his face where the light from the street lamp falls across it. Dan doesn’t see his expression. He just feels the weight of him shift closer.

Phil pauses halfway, like he’s not sure how close he can be. 

Dan rolls to meet him, then. It’s not a big bed, really, not for the two of them. He doesn’t have to go far before he can touch Phil’s shoulder with his hand. 

Phil sucks in a breath. He scoots a bit closer, then. 

“Where d’you want me?” Dan asks, barely more than a whisper. Phil doesn’t say anything to that, but Dan feels him shift, all in one go. He tucks his head just under Dan’s chin. His soft straight hair drifts over Dan’s face, and a very careful hand ends up on his waist. 

Dan drapes one long arm over him, maneuvering a bit until they fit right. He feels – protective, he thinks. Phil’s ribs catch, jolting funny over a breath. 

Dan starts, too, pulling away for a moment until he hears the soft sound Phil makes.

“This good?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, quiet and muffled against Dan’s neck.

Sleep comes easy, for once.


	3. Chapter 3

Dan wakes up to his stupid alarm clock blaring. He scrambles to get up to get to it, but there’s – something. Someone, he thinks. It takes him a minute.

Phil’s pinned to his back, he realizes. One of his legs is tangled with Dan’s, and he’s got an arm curled around Dan’s waist. He squirms when Dan tries to move again, but he doesn’t let go.

“Mate,” Dan says, wincing when his alarm blares again. “Philip.”

Phil blinks one and a half eyes open. He makes a little _wh?_ sound that doesn’t quite qualify as a word.

“Time to get up, bub.” 

“Now?” Phil croaks.

“Shocking, I know,” Dan says. Phil’s loosened his grip enough that he can untangle himself and slam the stupid clock off before Alex busts in to yell at him for letting it go. “I’m opening the store.”

Phil sighs. He’s starfished across the bed in Dan’s absence, staring at the ceiling.

“You coming? Or d’you want to stay here?”

Phil tilts his head to look at Dan, with this hopeful little smile on his face.

“What’s that then,” Dan says.

“Gonna sleep,” Phil murmurs. His voice is deep and raspy in a way that – nevermind. Dan’s got things to do. “This bed is so big.”

“Bigger if you sleep diagonal,” Dan offers. Phil hums, pleased, but he doesn’t seem interested in actually moving.

Dan wanders off to take a shower. He tries to step quietly over their creaky floorboards when he passes Alex’s room. He forgets to bring a change of clothes with him to the bathroom, but – it didn’t seem like Phil would mind, with the way he squinted just to see his phone clock a minute ago.

Phil turns his face towards the ceiling, anyways.

“You ever think what it would be like to be a hedgehog,” Phil says into space, while Dan tries to yank his jeans onto damp legs. 

“What?”

“I’d trip and poke myself,” Phil murmurs. “Obviously.”

Dan shrugs on the first clean shirt he finds. “Are you clumsy?”

“Hm,” Phil says, nonsensical. Dan shuffles over to the bed. Phil squints up at him for a moment. “I can’t see you. Is this Dan?”

“The same,” Dan confirms. He tries not to laugh, since – Phil could be blind, he supposes. He hasn’t really gotten around to asking. 

“Can I stay?” Phil asks. He sounds genuinely worried. 

“Yeah,” Dan says, quiet. “Don’t wake up Alex, and don’t fuck with the coffee machine. Um. Don’t steal our cutlery?”

Phil wrinkles his nose. He’s – well. “Like a dragon?” 

Dan can’t help reaching out, pushing a bit of hair out of Phil’s eyes with his fingertip. Phil tilts his head into it, so Dan gives up and combs his whole fringe out of the way on his second pass. He’s a weak man. Phil makes another pleased little humming sound, though, so he supposes they’re both stupid.

“Like a dragon, yeah,” he says, softly. He gets to his feet, goes to dig for his shoes before he can start any more nonsense. “We’ve only got three forks, so, I mean. If one goes missing you can’t come back here. No more pasta.”

Phil holds his pinky out, solemn. Dan shakes it, biting his lip hard so he doesn’t actually start laughing.

“Come visit?” Dan asks, just before he leaves. Phil looks like he started drifting as soon as Dan stepped away, but he gives him a haphazard thumbs up with one hand.

\--

_did hazelboy eat you,_ Alex texts.

_excuse???_

_oh you’re not dead cool nvm_

_am live thank. all good?_

_ya. leaving u for hazelbot. he made me eggs. you never make eggs._

_you’re weak_

Alex replies with a selfie of the two of them. Their mouth is clearly full, but they’re both doing a thumbs up over their plates of eggs. Phil’s fake-squinting into some imaginary sun, smiling wide and pleased.

—

Ellie comes in early, splitting her energy between messing with a new flavor in the back and trying to stay on top of the steady Sunday crowd.

_hazelbot incoming,_ he gets from Alex. There’s a string of robot emojis after the first text. Alex has never met a typo they didn’t like.

Dan glances at the clock when Phil arrives, and it’s – later than he expected. Phil has a bag that Dan doesn’t think he had yesterday. He gets his usual cone, but the specifics are more or less drowned out by the rest of the people wandering through the shop, one after another for so long that Dan’s head starts to swim. Phil sets up his laptop on the far counter, which – well. Dan isn’t particularly surprised when he looks up between customers and Phil is bundling it back into his bag. He taps his ear with a sheepish smile when Dan catches his eye for a moment. Dan smiles back, he thinks. He doesn’t see which way Phil turns.

\--

Dan’s in the vortex before he even realizes.

Sarah makes an extra batch on a Thursday night and pats Dan on the shoulder as she leaves, bleary-eyed and sleepy when he comes in to open. Ellie’s – dead, apparently. Or she ran away to join the circus. He doesn’t really know. Alex snaps every time Dan glances in their direction, only emerging from their room to snatch sweets out of the cupboards where Dan’s left them.

“You’re like a shitty cat that hides under the bed. And you cost a million dollars to feed,” Dan huffs when Alex sneaks into the kitchen to swipe another fucking creme egg.

“Shut up,” Alex says. “God hates me and I hate you.”

Dan retreats back to his stupid video games. It’s the only thing he does anymore, other than work and hope to god that the sun doesn’t come out and give people ideas.

\--

Dan gets a three day weekend. He sleeps through Thursday and Friday and then twiddles his thumbs for just about all of Saturday. He’s not – done with Guild Wars, exactly, but he’s poked every fucking button that can be poked at this point. He feels trapped, he finally thinks over dinner.

His hands shake as he tries to spoon out the rice.

“D’you think hamsters think hamster wheels are weird?” he asks, once they’ve sat down. It never goes anywhere. Alex just blinks back at him for a moment, studying him with their head tipped left like a confused dog.

“I’m going out. You’re coming,” Alex tells him. He can’t be bothered with arguing.

\--

He takes Callum home with him. Again. 

It just – settles something in him. 

“He’s nice,” Dan protests, when Alex asks what in good hell Callum was doing in their hallway.

Alex gives him a look. “He is nice,” they say, slowly like Dan’s an idiot.

“So?”

“Better him than Jade again,” Alex allows.

Dan turns away for a moment so they can’t catch the look on his face. He busies himself with jamming toast in the toaster.

“What’s the problem, then.”

“He’s like – you know how he is, Danny.”

“I don’t,” he says, flat. He grabs the sponge off the sink and starts fussing over a spatter of sauce from the other night.

“Like a dick that’s grown legs. Like – like he owns an Arsenal kit. Like, a proper one and everything.”

“So,” Dan bites out. 

“What are _you_ gonna do with that? Come on.”

“I’m not gonna _do_ anything. He’s just – he’s just somebody.”

He can feel Alex rolling their eyes behind his back. He scrubs at a coffee spot that won’t come out. He doesn’t understand why Alex can knock about with whoever and never put much effort into dating, and it’s only a problem when Dan does the same. He doesn’t get that. 

“So what, then,” he says again, after Alex sighs just loudly enough that it’s clear they’re annoyed with Dan’s wandering.

“You just go out and sleep with him when you don’t want to be in your own brain about anything,” they say, quiet. It’s too quick out of their mouth, he thinks. Like they were waiting for him to ask. “I just thought you’d come home last night and we’d watch a movie or something, not have another fucking crisis.”

Dan doesn’t like this part of the conversation. Alex fucking knows that, too. They have this conversation enough. 

“I’m gonna go look at – my emails,” he blurts, snatching his plate of toast off the counter.

\--

It’s always when Alex has a reason to be angry with him, he thinks. 

He knows that’s not – logical, really. His last therapist tried to tell him that. That he can’t blame everything on how people react to him. That he has to be aware of triggers other than someone frowning at him once in a while.

“Did you sleep?” Alex asks, from the doorway. “I texted Sarah.”

_That’s bad,_ a part of him offers, but – whatever. He’s exhausted. His chest aches, and his throat hurts, and his stomach isn’t right either. His fucking eyeballs hurt from staring at the ceiling, which just seems unfair. He feels like he’s falling to pieces. He can’t even take care of this stupid person-husk that he’s in charge of.

“Can you hear me, babe?” Alex presses, when Dan doesn’t answer. Dan manages to nod, even though it feels like his brain is sloshing in his head.

He can’t remember what Alex says, after. 

\--

“There’s water,” a quiet voice says.

Dan flops over and grabs at the glass before he’s really thought it through. He props himself up and drinks the whole thing in two gulps. Like a whale shark, his brain sputters out. He’s not exploring that. 

“Good?” the voice says. 

It’s dark out. There’s just the streetlamp casting a shard of light across his bed, lighting up the talking person’s chin. 

_Hazelnut,_ his brain finally offers, after he’s squinted at their adam’s apple for a minute.

He’s woken up in weirder places. 

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Thanks.”

He rolls towards the weight on the other side of his bed. It’s warm, over there. A hand pulls at the blankets, tugging them closer until he’s properly tucked in. He falls asleep again to the hand drifting over his back.

\--

“What?”

Phil’s tapping on his laptop, but he looks up.

“I’m Phil,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Dan confirms, slow. He does actually know that. “You’re in my bed?”

“I can leave,” Phil says. He shifts like he actually might, sitting up and pushing the lid of his laptop halfway closed. 

Dan doesn’t mean to be needy, but – his hand is on Phil’s wrist before he knows why. 

Phil’s just – warm, he thinks. He has a vague thought that Phil’s been here for a while, now. The hours don’t match up, but – he’s pretty sure. He’s pretty sure that Phil’s been sitting with him, and that he’s woken up to a gentle hand on his back and someone handing him a glass of water at least once.

Phil turns to him, blinking at Dan’s hand and then at his face. He settles back in, slow.

“Yeah?” he asks, quietly.

Dan nods. He rolls onto his stomach once he’s sure Phil isn’t going anywhere, squashing his wet face into the pillow. It’s not like he has a good reason to be crying. He always just wants to get this part over with. It reminds him of – being a kid, he thinks. Of crying because he didn’t know any other way to ask. He doesn’t really feel that way, now, but it’s never stopped; it turns out it doesn’t matter much what he thinks of it.

“Oh,” Phil says, after a minute. The tapping stops.

“Sorry,” Dan says, muffled. His voice sounds stupid, he thinks. “This just happens.”

“Okay,” Phil says. He goes back to his tapping. 

Dan gets lost in the white noise of it, for a while. He tries to feel his fingers pressing against the bed sheets, and the heat of the sun through his window. 

“This is boring,” Phil interrupts. “I’m bored.”

“Uh,” Dan mumbles. It’s not like he disagrees, but – well.

“Can we play Zoo Tycoon?”

“You’re a grown man,” Dan whines. “I hate giraffes.”

“We’re gonna play Zoo Tycoon,” Phil says, anyways.

\--

They’ve made it to the couch by the time Alex gets home. Dan’s flopped over, head on Phil’s thigh, feet dangling over the armrest.

“Hippos don’t eat bananas, you _absolute_ spoon,” Dan huffs. 

Phil shrugs and continues waving the banana around like he’s trying to menace his virtual hippo. “You don’t know anything about hippos,” he says.

“I _do_ know that they don’t eat bananas.”

“Danny doesn’t know anything about hippos,” Alex says from the doorway, once they’ve toed their shoes off. 

“More than you two dickheads,” Dan says, definitely whining.

Alex gives him a soft smile, nudging at his foot with their knuckles. Dan thinks they’re just indulging him instead of taking the bait for a hippo fact fight, but – whatever. “Alright there?”

Dan nods. He’s warm under their raggedy blanket. Phil’s good company, even if he doesn’t follow instructions. He’s – actually good, he thinks.

\--

_all good?_ Alex texts him, before they go to bed. They’re just across the flat, and they asked only a few hours ago in person. He appreciates it anyways.

_yeah,_ Dan replies, almost immediately. _love you_

_love you too_

\--

“How’re you?” Dan asks, over late-night cereal. Phil doesn’t seem to mind that Dan’s not following any real schedule, just eating and doing whatever whenever.

Phil’s chewing slows. He puts another spoonful in his mouth instead of answering. Dan pauses, studying him. He knows he’s not meant to – assume that he’s being a burden all the time, but Phil’s been cheerful enough, so ever-present that he didn’t even question it until now. 

“Been better,” Phil says, eventually.

“Oh,” Dan says, softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not really good at words,” Phil says.

“Not enough ice cream in your life?” Dan offers. He hasn’t been around to the shop much – unless he was just managing to avoid Dan somehow, during his entire run of never-ending shifts.

Phil winces.

“I lost a job,” he says, slowly. “And now it’s – I don’t know. It’s shit.”

“With work?”

“Everything,” Phil mumbles. Dan doesn’t really know what to say to that. It’s not that he disagrees, but – he doesn’t really know what _everything_ is to Phil.

Phil’s messing with his spoon, tapping it aimlessly along the sides and making little chimes as much as he is actually eating. “My dad’s ill,” he blurts.

Dan makes a soft sound of sympathy, but Phil’s eyebrows knit together in frustration. 

“My brother and I are just – ” Phil starts. He trails off again.

“Does he have a problem with you?” Dan says. Phil really hasn’t said much about him, other than that they live together and that he doesn’t want to go home. Dan’s – he’s not good at managing that in his own life, but there’s a part of him that does think that he could beat up Phil’s brother if he tried hard enough. Maybe it’s not a rational thought.

“Yeah,” Phil says, quietly. He looks up when Dan doesn’t say anything, going wide-eyed with recognition. “Oh, no. Not about that. Just like – you know.”

“I don’t,” Dan says.

“He has a problem with everything else.” Phil says. “He’s just so – mellow? I mean. He’s stoned, mainly. But it’s – I don’t know. I lost that job and he just said to go talk to people until I meet someone who can hire me, like it’s so – like that’s so easy. And I guess it is, for him. I don’t know. I don’t know what that’s like.”

Dan nods. He wandered into his job at the store, to be fair, but – maybe crying on Alex’s floor until they asked him to move in doesn’t really count as _networking,_ per se.

“I don’t know,” Phil says, softly. “We call home and it’s like, you know, dad’s alive, and I... I can’t ask them for anything.”

Dan wants to express sympathy, or something, but Phil doesn’t seem to want that.

“I tried to ask my mum for a tenner last week and ended up congratulating her on getting custody of my brother,” Dan says, instead. “And then I hung up.”

Phil looks up, studying Dan with this slow smile until he falls into giggles. His laugh is so quiet and high, it doesn’t match the rest of his voice at all. He slaps a hand over his mouth. Dan thinks he hears him whisper _Alex is sleeping_ into it. Just the sound of it sets off Dan, which is fucking dangerous, considering how loud his stupid laugh is.

“This is dark,” he manages to squeak out. Phil just laughs more. 

“We’re horrid,” Phil agrees after a minute, conspiratorial.

Dan forces himself to turn back to his cereal, eventually. He barely gets through the last few spoonfuls without sputtering milk back out. It’s difficult, especially when Phil catches his eye and smiles.

Dan finally stands, grabbing both bowls and taking them to the sink.

_2:03,_ the microwave reads. 

“Can you just sleep here?” he says, before he can stop himself. He’s awake, now. He would be fine alone. He just doesn’t – he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want Phil wandering around at night. He knows other adults aren’t scared of the dark the way he is, but he still doesn’t like the idea of it. He doesn’t want Phil going back to sleeping on his couch at home, or staying in his brother’s flat, or whatever’s going on there. 

He glances over his shoulder when Phil doesn’t answer. The bright lights are starting to blur his eyes, a bit, and he has to blink a few times to sort them out. When he does, Phil’s staring back at him with this smile that’s so hopeful it makes Dan’s heart stutter.


	4. Chapter 4

Dan wakes up the next morning to Phil wiggling. He can hear Alex’s alarm blaring through the wall, and he has a vague sense that he was very warm and comfortable a second ago. Also that butterflies are terrorizing the earth, but – that might be from a dream.

“Sorry,” Phil whispers. He finally untangles his arm from where it’s trapped under Dan’s shoulder, and pads out of the room.

—

“You’re doing okay?” Alex asks over breakfast.

“Yeah,” Dan says, automatic. He finds it a bit tedious, sometimes, but he knows they worry. He feels like he owes it to them.

“Not you,” Alex says, mild. Dan looks up from his toast, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Yeah,” Phil says, softly. “Thanks.”

\--

Alex just rolls their eyes when Dan makes a move to go to the store. 

“Do the dishes,” they say. Dan scrunches up his face like a child, because he can’t say that he doesn’t want to do the dishes, actually; he just wants to go to the store and muck around and act like everything’s normal again.

Phil herds him back into the kitchen, anyways. Dan thinks he catches the two of them trading a conspiratorial smile when they think he’s not looking.

“I hate plates,” Dan whines. Phil giggles. 

“Eat off the floor then,” he says.

“I hate you.”

“Okay.” 

He seems – cheerful, Dan thinks. He doesn’t really know how to square that with Alex’s worried voice over breakfast. Sometimes it’s just idle habit, from them, but – it’s not like they know Phil that well, not like they have a reason to ask constantly like they do with Dan.

“Are you… is everything good?” he tries, scrubbing at a fork.

“Yep,” Phil says, simple. “Why?”

“Alex just seemed worried.”

“Oh. Yeah. I was in a bit of a state when I texted them,” he says. Dan glances up, and Phil’s smiling. He’s starting to wonder if Phil’s face doesn’t quite match up with how he’s feeling, sometimes.

“When you – what?”

Phil makes a face, then, squinting down at the butter knife in his hands.

“I just asked if I could come over,” he says, quiet. “Just to – not be on my couch.”

“To steal my bed,” Dan clarifies. Phil nods, smiling a bit at the plate in his hands. Dan tries to watch him with one eye without losing sight of the pan he’s meant to be scrubbing. “So you came over and I was – sleeping? And they made you stay here?”

Phil gives him a look that Dan can’t quite parse. “I mean,” he says, slowly. “They didn’t make me. I just wanted to be with someone else.”

Dan snorts. 

“It’s not like I’m good company,” he says.

“You’re alright.”

“I mean – but they left you? Like, you weren’t – and they just left you to take care of me? I don’t – Phil, come on. That’s not –”

“Dan,” he interrupts. Normally Dan would be bracing for a fight, but Phil’s voice is so quiet and mild that he doesn’t quite mind. “I don’t like talking, anyways.” 

“Whatever. They still left you alone when you shouldn’t have been.”

“I wasn’t alone.” 

Phil’s searching his face, when Dan looks up to hand over the last of the dishes. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Dan’s heart is pounding in his ears, and he’s running hot all of a sudden like he’s just been through a marathon or something, not just – doing the dishes with this man that doesn’t understand what he’s saying.

“Whatever,” Dan repeats, trying to keep his voice level. He doesn’t think he’s terribly successful. “Are you okay now?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, softly. He’s reserved, all of a sudden; quiet where he was laughing a minute ago. Dan – did that, he thinks. He doesn’t know what happened.

\--

He curls up on the couch while Phil works. Phil says he can’t deal with other noise if he’s doing audio, so Dan riffles around in his room until he finds his laptop under a pile of dirty clothes. 

Phil’s – sort of short with him. He doesn’t know if it’s just that he’s working, or that he’s stressed about working, or if it’s – just that Dan is too grating. He’s usually too grating, after a while. He grates on himself. He finds it hard to believe that he doesn’t grate on Phil, too. 

He gets sucked into a stupid Reddit thread about misshapen snack foods and where they come from, for a while.

He asks, at one point. Phil gives him this soft look and says everything’s fine. Dan wants to believe him. He doesn’t know if he can, but – he wants to.

“Does this look right?” Phil asks, later.

Dan shuffles closer, leaning in to watch when Phil hits play. 

It’s just an ad for an insurance company. Phil doesn’t even seem particularly interested; he keeps tilting his head and blinking sleepily as they’re watching. 

“The text?” he says, once they’ve played through once. Phil nods a little. “Wait, go back?”

Phil pulls it back to the spot they passed earlier, pausing it over a frame. 

“The font is like – it’s good, but it looks – not right,” Dan says. He thinks it’s sort of a nonsense critique, but Phil scratches at the hair on the back of his neck for a minute and then shrugs. He pulls his laptop back in his direction and nudges vaguely at Dan’s side until he goes back to his own. Dan thinks he sees some kind of font site open for a second before it goes out of view.

“Thanks,” Phil mumbles, later. He doesn’t show Dan the final product.

\--

Phil leaves when Alex comes home. He says something sort of vague about needing to eat dinner with his brother, or maybe his parents, except his parents don’t live in the city. Dan doesn’t get it.

“What happened?” he finally asks Alex, while they’re unpacking the groceries.

“What?”

“Phil was like – having a panic attack? And you left him here?”

There’s a long pause. Dan doesn’t think it’s just that Alex is organizing all three of their spices again. They don’t usually care what order they’re in.

“He just said he needed to be with someone for a while.”

“You’re someone.”

“I had to go to work, Danny,” Alex says, patiently. 

They’re not getting into that. They can’t get into it, because it’s just a recipe for Dan crying again and ruining some more things. He bites his mouth shut and puts the pasta away with more force than is strictly necessary.

“He said he was happy staying with you,” Alex continues. “And you’re someone, so.”

It’s not that Dan isn’t, but it’s just – he just isn’t someone in the way Alex is. He’s barely teetering on his own two feet. That’s not what Phil needs.

“I just don’t know if he should be alone,” Dan mumbles, chided. 

Alex is silent behind him, and Dan can’t turn around to see. He thinks they’re probably scratching the hair along their temple, the way they always do when they’re thinking. 

“Did he say he was having a panic attack?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Alex says, slow.

“I don’t think he would say, though. I don’t – like. Can we risk that?” 

He turns to look at Alex. Their head’s dipped, fingertips idly fussing with the hair at their temple like he thought.

“This is important to you?” they finally ask. Dan doesn’t – he doesn’t get it, really. Of course it’s important. “He hasn’t got any other mates, right?”

Dan shakes his head, quick. It’s not like he really knows, other than what Phil’s told him. Maybe he’s just dramatic and he has loads of friends and his own flat isn’t so bad and he’s just at theirs because –

Well.

Alex is looking up at him, with that curious look they get when Dan’s quiet.

“It’s important,” he says. He doesn’t know why.

\--

Ellie reaches up, holding up her flat palm.

“What’s this?”

“I want a high five,” she says, solemnly. 

Dan rolls his eyes, but he gently pats her hand with his. She’s so tiny that he’s always a bit worried that he’ll just take her out by accident.

All three of them are crammed behind the counter for the afternoon. It’s a bit cramped, and the schedule seems – strange, like Sarah was making edits at the last minute. He’s not going to ask too many questions.

It’s easier to relax, with all of them there, even when it gets busy. Dan finds himself smiling at the little kids when they shout. He hums along with Ellie’s playlist, bickers with her over a new flavor. It’s as fun as work ever is. He’s grateful.

_a lady,_ he types out on his break. He glances up at Alex, backspaces it.

_someone just came in and ordered a scoop of lemon with a scoop of the chocolate bacon on top,_ he writes. _why?_

_a top,_ Phil answers.

“Alex?” he calls, bumping the door open with his foot.

“Danny?”

“Do you agree with Philip that the reason that person ordered bacon and lemon was because they’re a top?”

Alex makes a bewildered face, tipping their head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment.

_oh no,_ Phil writes. _a cop_  
 _sorry_

Dan squawks, and the sound richotets around their little office. Phil sends an angel emoji. 

“He meant a cop,” Dan squeaks out. Alex is laughing, too. 

_come eat our nuts and talk to me,_ he shoots back to Phil before he can think it through.

\--

“Not everyone wants to watch Drag Race with you.”

“Not everyone wants to watch drag racing with _you,”_ Alex snaps. 

Phil’s looking between them, wide eyed, head swiveling nervously like one of those bobblehead guys. “Sorry?” he finally asks.

“We have two different types of drag racing in this house,” Alex says. “The difference is that mine is fun and Danny’s is stupid.”

“Mine’s fun,” Dan whines, flopping back on the couch.

“Your idea of fun is stupid.”

“It’s not –”

“I think – the fun one?” Phil says, almost too quiet to hear.

Dan rolls his eyes at the ceiling, but he waves his hand in defeat. Alex taps away at their laptop for a minute until he hears the familiar intro song.

“Do you not like this?” Phil asks, closer now. He’s almost whispering.

“I do,” he says, as quietly as he can manage. “I just didn’t know if you would.”

Phil shrugs, reaching down to fuss with a loose thread on the cuff of his jeans. “It’s kind of hard to follow,” he says. “I don’t really know about this stuff.”

“Just read twitter. That’s what Danny does; he never actually pays attention,” Alex says. Dan can’t understand how they even heard Phil from a few feet away, but whatever.

“I do,” Dan protests. He doesn’t mention that he’s already managed to slip his phone out of his pocket, and that he was about to check twitter to read about the episode they’re meant to be watching.

“I can’t read,” Phil says, like he didn’t notice Dan’s whining.

“No?” Alex asks.

“Nope. Don’t have eyeballs.”

There it is. Dan’s laughing, too loud for his own good.

“It’s like living with a banshee,” Alex says, throwing one of their crisps in the vague direction of his head.

“That’s the same sound the capuchins make when you zoom in on them,” Phil offers. Dan flicks the back of his head and gets rewarded with a hand moving all of his fringe to sit directly in his eyes.

“In Zoo Tycoon?” Alex asks. Dan genuinely doesn’t know if any of them have heard any part of this fucking episode. They’ll get at least three nights out of it, at this rate. 

“When you zoom in on them in real life,” Phil says. “With your astronaut eyes.”

\--

“I’ve never slept with anyone this much,” Phil whispers into the dark.

Dan snorts. “Phil,” he says, soft and drawn out.

Phil’s silent for a minute, but then he giggles. “Not like that,” he whispers. “Oops.” 

Dan tips his face towards him. He can only really see smudges, but Phil’s got this little smile on his face. His forearms are up towards his chest, fists tucked under his chin. He looks like he’s cuddling an imaginary pillow, Dan thinks. There’s a smudge of light over his – nevermind. 

“D’you always sleep like a mummy, mate?”

“Can’t roll over on the couch,” Phil says.

“No?”

“I fell off last week and I think I concussed myself.”

Dan’s bed isn’t anything fancy or even big, but – he can’t quite imagine how small this couch must be. He thinks maybe Phil really isn’t joking when he says he’s just here to steal Dan’s bed.

“That explains a lot,” he murmurs. “Can you come here?”

Phil looks over, finally. His eyes look huge against the dark smudges of the rest of his face, glittering in the light in a way that Dan can’t stop staring at.

“It’s your bed,” Phil says, softly.

“And?” Dan whispers back.

“Don’t you want space?”

Dan thinks about it. It’s not like – it’s not like he doesn’t sometimes shove Phil away in the night, when he overheats. Phil kicks him, sometimes. He’s woken up with bruised shins and Phil in his arms, still mumbling to no one about how he doesn’t want to hug a kangaroo or whatever madcap shit he’s on about that night. 

“No,” he says, anyways. “Not now.”

\--

“ – twenty-one, twenty-three… thirty, right? Thirty-four, thirty-seven, forty-one – fuck. Forty-three, forty–six. Al, is that right?”

“Yeah, seems right.”

“Okay,” Dan says. “We could get – ugh.” He pokes at a few things on top, knocking them out of the way like reshuffling might help. “I can put back the bananas, and the big thing of eggs, right? That’s like – forty-three, then? Forty-four?”

“Why?” Alex asks, nose wrinkling.

“I’ve got twenty,” Dan says, slowly. “You’ve got twenty. So –”

“Phil put in five.”

“What?”

Alex shrugs. “He put in five. He said he eats with us anyways. His brother cut him a deal on their end, I think.”

Dan pulls a face, squinting like he’s in physical pain. Alex seems so relaxed about the situation; they just stare back with a patient look that suggests that he’s being dramatic.

“Why would he do that?” Dan finally asks. 

Alex shrugs again, eyebrows raising this time in unison.


	5. Chapter 5

“Am I meant to call you Danny?” 

He’s ‘helping’ while Dan tries to organize his room. Mainly he’s sitting on the bed, pulling Dan’s handful of surviving knick knacks off his decrepit IKEA desk and asking bizarre questions that distract Dan from his actual project. Sometimes he asks Dan why he has so many black shirts; he keeps forgetting the answer.

“Not really,” Dan says. “Why?”

Phil’s fussing with his duvet, for some reason. “Just wondering. Alex calls you Danny.”

“Oh,” Dan says, absently. He chucks a green t-shirt out of his closet. He doesn’t even know why he has it.

“Did they just – invent calling you Danny?” Phil says, pressing forward.

Dan shakes his head. 

“Back home, too,” he says. “Like – with my parents, and stuff. At school. I don’t know. I guess it’s weird to call a child Dan, right? Alex told me to change it, when I moved in.”

“Oh. Wait, so they invented calling you Dan?”

Dan snorts. 

“It’s supposed to be – symbolic, Alex said. Um, that I’m like, a new person. An adult,” he says. He tries to focus on the fabric in his hands. 

“Oh,” Phil says, softly. He sounds like he doesn’t know quite what to do with that.

“They still call me Danny, though, since I’m like their little brother,” Dan says. “They get away with it.”

“Are they older than you?”

Dan nods. “By a year. They graduate next year, and I’m only twenty.”

“God,” Phil says. “You’re a child.”

Dan takes a deep breath. He hasn’t really asked how old Phil is; he just knows he’s graduated. He could be thirty, for all he really knows, and maybe Dan is comically young in comparison. It’s just – he _made_ it. He made it twenty years, and he knows it’s not fucking much, but Dan doesn’t feel like some kind of innocent child any more. He hasn’t in a long time.

“How old are you?” he manages to say.

“Twenty-four,” Phil whines, flopping back on the bed. “I was a T. Rex when I was born and I’ve had to make this human skin myself, that’s how old I am.”

“Weird,” Dan mutters.

“Well, I’m weird.”

“A weird old man.”

“The _weirdest_ old man,” Phil sighs. Dan looks over his shoulder at him, then, scrunching his face up. Phil beams. “Is that a bad thing to say?”

“I’m gonna kick you out of my house, you big freak,” Dan says. 

“Really?” Phil asks, with a certain abrupt sincerity.

Dan rolls his eyes. 

He’s sick of trying to sort out what he actually likes from the shit he just has because he needs a spare shirt sometimes before he can get around to doing his laundry. It all feels sort of forced, like he’s just got these clothes because he’s always had them, and he’s stuck with the stupid choices he made at seventeen when his mum was still chipping in money once in a while.

Phil’s – sprawled out on his bed, legs dangling off the side in a stupid way that Dan doesn’t find cute. It’s too warm for a proper cuddle, and Dan’s not feeling pathetic enough to ask, but – well. He takes a few steps over and flops down on top of Phil. It’s just to make Phil laugh, really. Phil pinches his ribs and shoves at him and almost knees him in the balls, making little irritated noises the whole time like he can’t even be bothered with talking about how annoying Dan is.

“Get off,” he finally whines. Dan rolls away, laughing. 

Phil’s laughing, too. He sounds a little breathless.

“Sorry,” Dan says. “I act out when I’m bored.”

\--

They settle into a routine at the shop, finally. Sarah’s in again, working the front counter almost as much as they do. They rarely have less than two of them up front. The crowds are kind of soul-bending, but they make do.

Phil still comes in, sometimes. He slips away from the flat when Dan’s at work. Dan doesn’t really know where he goes, but he wanders down to the shop around the end of Dan’s shift, even if he doesn’t get a cone. It’s familiar, in its own way. It’s the same way they met in the first place. 

Dan knows him now, though, enough to see the tense lines in his eyebrows. He doesn’t ask for coffee anymore. Sarah already gives him a skeptical look when she realizes how long he takes to make sure Phil’s ice cream is perfect, smack in the middle of the afternoon rush.

Phil manages to smile at him, despite everything. Dan decides that that’s enough. 

\--

“Sweaty,” Dan murmurs. 

Alex snorts. “You’re disgusting,” they say, interrupting whatever they were on about before.

Dan picks a baby carrot out of the plate and hands it to Phil, who takes it very carefully between his fingers. He feels like he’s in slow motion. He’s like a pancake, all fluffy and full of syrup.

“Throw this,” he commands. Phil giggles and chucks it at Alex. His aim isn’t very good. Dan can’t really see where it lands, but it’s not on Alex’s face like he’d hoped.

“I was talking,” Alex says.

“I’m listening,” Phil says. His chest vibrates under Dan’s cheek when he talks. Dan can’t be bothered with looking up, but he probably has his _Alex is talking_ face on. He likes that face. Phil goes all wide eyed, like a cartoon character. His eyes are pretty, and kind, he thinks. Phil doesn’t know what Alex is talking about really ever, but he tries. Dan likes that.

Alex launches back into some rant about a bloke he met who’s friends with Callum. Dan’s heard it before, or something like it. Usually he’d pay attention.

Phil’s petting the hair on the back of Dan’s neck. Dan doesn’t know if he knows he’s doing it, really. His skin’s gone sticky and horrible wherever they’re touching. There’s a vague thought in his mind that maybe he’s meant to move away, give them both some breathing room. He should get a glass of water. He should get Phil water too, maybe.

He’s just – good, here, is the thing. He can’t shape it into words.

He hadn’t really thought the situation through. Not when Phil had slumped back against the armrest, or when Phil had gently tugged at his wrist. Dan had just gone with it, pliable and easily convinced in a way he doesn’t quite trust.

It’s not like he’s having – a proper bad day, he doesn’t think. It’s just like he’s filled with static. Normally he’d be fighting against that, thrashing and probably shoving his way into Alex’s space just to find something that feels like clarity for a minute. Now he’s – here, he thinks. He doesn’t know what the difference is, why he can lay here in Phil’s arms and feel fine about it, even when he’s not quite tied to the world right now.

“ – and it’s like, I came out when I was fourteen, mate. I don’t need to hear about what _the culture_ is from some guy,” Alex is saying, words drifting somewhere above his head. Dan feels Phil nod, a little. His chin bumps into Dan’s skull. He doesn’t mind.

“Fourteen?” Phil asks, after a minute. 

There’s a beat of silence. He figures Alex is pulling a face, or something. 

“I made it to nineteen,” Phil says. His voice is soft, like he’s trying not to disturb the neighbors through their thin walls. “And I only said anything because everyone knew. Fourteen’s – I can’t imagine.”

“Had to find time for two rounds,” Alex cracks. Phil laughs, loud in Dan’s ear. He seems caught off guard, still, but – he has a sense of humor about it. He laughs in the right places, lets Alex lead where they want to go.

They fall into silence, again. They’re watching something – a Star Trek replay, Dan thinks. He can’t remember and can’t be bothered to look.

“Someone told me,” Dan mumbles. He doesn’t know why he even says it. He feels Phil shift, anyways; his hand cups the back of Dan’s head for a moment. Phil settles back down in almost the same position, but he sighs like he’s more comfortable now.

“Told you what?” Phil asks, quiet.

Dan doesn’t really know the answer to that. He’s wandering around in a mental bog again, feet sticking into the mud, fog pulling at him. _Sleep,_ he thinks, bleary. 

“Danny doesn’t like using his words,” Alex says, after a minute of silence. Their voice is – gentle, maybe. He wants to think so. He knows it’s annoying, the way he dances around it, even at home.

He imagines the two of them sharing a look over his head. He shifts, pressing his face closer against Phil’s chest, hiding his eyes like the world can’t exist if he can’t see it.

Phil’s hands are in his hair, again. His breaths make a little whistling sound as they move over Phil’s shirt. He tries to focus on that.

He just doesn’t – understand it, is all. He doesn’t understand how it can be true that he’s spent so much energy carefully constructing this safe world to live within, and somehow he’s still frozen in place like a goddamn ice cube in the Sahara. He doesn’t understand how it can be true that he upturned Alex’s life and his own and went to therapy for months and left school and got a job in something completely different and went home and watched his home fall apart and came back and just – nothing. It was all nothing, in the end. He still can’t open his fucking mouth.

“Hey,” Alex’s voice says, suddenly nearby. “Hey, Danny.”

He’s vibrating, he realizes. His breaths are coming out in stupid little stutters.

“No,” he mumbles, muffled into Phil’s shirt. Phil tries to move away, but Dan presses down towards the couch, selfish.

“No what?” Alex says.

“No talking.”

Alex snorts. Dan reaches out, patting around their face for a second before pressing a finger to where he thinks their lips are.

He feels the rise and fall of Phil’s laugh more than he hears it. There’s a tentative hand on his shoulder, a thumb running back and forth over the bone.

“Go watch Star Trek,” Dan says, after a minute. 

“It’s Stargate,” Phil says. 

Dan blinks his eyes open, finally, raising his head a bit so he can look Phil in the eye. “What,” he says, squinting.

“It’s like Star Trek, but it’s mental.”

“What?” Dan turns to the screen, bewildered. 

“Sometimes there’s short sleeved shirts,” Alex says, settling down next to the couch instead of going back to their beanbag. “That’s why we’re really watching. This grandpa is ripped.”

“I’m watching for the plot,” Phil protests. Alex laughs, tipping their head back to rest on Dan’s knee.

There’s an argument between two bare-armed guys about hieroglyphics or something going on on screen. Dan can’t really parse what’s happening. He doesn’t have any particularly strong feelings about guys that are bordering-on-ripped like that, but Phil seems to be deeply invested.

“The hot guy is going over there,” Phil starts reciting, solemnly. “Now the hot guy is going to save some aliens.”

“By being hot,” Alex adds, just as fake-serious. “Just gonna walk in there and the other aliens will be like no, nevermind. We can’t argue with this hot grandpa. Look at him.”

Phil laughs, chest shifting under Dan again. Dan carefully settles his head back down. Phil’s hand is on the back of his neck almost immediately, fingertips wandering idly back and forth. Dan sighs, quiet. He’s still fuzzy and somehow too awake for how little brain action is actually going on in his head, but – it’s different, he thinks. 

He’s so used to being the problem child. Even with Alex, he’s always the one hiding in corners, holding everything close and silent until something taps him and he shatters. This – with Phil here, stubbornly coming back to him with gentle hands and a soft voice, and giving Alex someone funny to talk to, who isn’t erratic the way Dan is – it’s good. It’s different, but maybe it was a difference that they needed in their house.

\--

“Sorry we kept you up,” Alex murmurs, leaning over to plant a sleepy kiss in Dan’s hair.

He’s still cottony. He blinks down at his cereal and makes a vague little humming noise. 

“Can’t believe I came over to steal your bed and slept on your couch anyways,” Phil says, voice rough with sleep. 

“Really fucked that up,” Dan says, mostly into his coffee. Phil did something weird to it – it’s like he burnt it and made it too weak at the same time. It’s kind of impressive, in its own way. He catches Alex giving their own mug a deeply skeptical look; he points at Phil as soon as they turn to glare at him.

“Have you ever made coffee before, Phil?” Alex says, settling down at their rickety table.

Phil shakes his head, smiling a little sheepishly. “We just have instant,” he says. 

“Oh. _Those_ people,” Alex says.

“Those people,” Dan agrees, solemnly. 

\--

“Try this,” Ellie insists.

“What is it?”

“Egg,” she says. Dan’s struggling to get through ringing up his customer without laughing. It’s a dad with his two kids, who he thinks he’s seen before. His customer service smile is genuine for once, anyways.

“Just – egg?” Phil says, slow. 

“Just egg,” she says, passing the tiny kid’s cone into his hands. 

“I just wanted hazelnut,” Phil mumbles to himself, obviously forlorn about his luck.

“Your fault for hanging around, eggboy,” Dan says as soon as the man at his counter leaves. He looks up just in time to see Phil give it a tentative lick. His eyes are closed, apparently to – find out what it tastes like without – distractions.

Dan turns back to the person at his register. He can feel that he’s maybe a little wide eyed.

“Medium cone, right?” he asks, rote. 

He settles back in quickly enough. The on and off switch is working today, apparently. He keeps his head down through the next two customers, and when he looks up Phil’s done with his cone, looking at Ellie across the case with a focused little crease in his forehead.

“ – can’t decide if it’s too salty for a whole cone,” she’s saying. Phil nods, seriously, like he’s some sort of horrible ice cream sommelier.

“It’s all kind of… weird,” he says, after a moment of thinking. “But I’m not really big on salty things?”

“Can you make a frappuccino flavor, El?” Dan offers.

“What about cheese? Like a proper cheddar, or like that blue cheese one with the blueberries?” Ellie asks, completely in her own world.

Phil falls silent, eyes going wider and wider. She frowns back at him, confused.

“That was good,” Dan says, when it’s clear that Phil isn’t going to answer. “Except Phil doesn’t like cheese, so.”

“Maybe pizza flavor,” Phil says, softly. 

Ellie’s still frowning, face swivelling back and forth between them. 

“You’re a shite taste tester, Phil,” she says, finally. She sounds – vaguely awed, like it’s surprising how bad he is at saying yes to her weird trial flavors. Or maybe it’s how weird his actual suggestions are; Dan doesn’t know. Pizza ice cream sounds like crap. It makes him laugh, anyways. 

“Sorry,” Phil says, smiling a little. He’s not looking at her.

\--

“Phil asked if I thought Sarah would hire him,” Alex says.

Dan looks up from stirring another fucking jar of sauce into another fucking bowl of pasta.

“And?”

“I asked how many hours he could manage and he got all, like, cranky about it and said none,” Alex continues, reaching past Dan to put bread in the toaster. “Is he alright?” they continue, when Dan doesn’t respond.

“How would I know?”

Alex gives him a look. “He doesn’t sleep in my bed, mate.”

Dan turns back to his pasta. “Phil doesn’t say much. Not about that kind of thing.”

“You just fuck and that’s it?”

Dan sputters, popping back up from grabbing bowls out of the cupboard to stare at Alex, wide-eyed.

“Alex,” he yelps, too loud.

“What? I’m just asking if your – “

“He’s not my anything,” Dan interrupts. “He’s just – “

“If you say that man is _just someone,_ I will actually murder you. Like, actually, right here, mate.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Dan mumbles.

“You just – Daniel – ” Alex starts, exasperated.

“We don’t.”

Alex stares back at him, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “Danny,” they say, slowly.

Dan realizes that his heart’s pounding, then. He hates talking about this with Alex and he knows he shouldn’t and he knows they don’t deserve the full force of his anxiety after everything but he’s still – bewildered. Still out of his fucking depth entirely.

“Are you serious?” Alex continues, when Dan doesn’t.

“I don’t want to,” Dan says. Alex rolls their eyes, flashing him a little smile like he’s stupid as hell. Maybe he is. He doesn’t know. “Shut up.”

“It’s about the thing?” Alex asks, then. Their voice goes gentle, and Dan thinks it’s – pity, probably. Disguised frustration, maybe. 

“I don’t know. You don’t have to tell me how you feel about that.”

“You know what I think,” Alex says, anyways. Dan does, more than he’d really like to. They’ve talked circles around this for ages. 

“Can we just eat?” he asks.


	6. Chapter 6

Phil – mostly isn’t alright, it turns out.

“He’s really ill,” he manages to say, late one night. 

He’s tucked into Dan’s side. Neither of them can sleep, really; Phil because he’s been squirming relentlessly for an hour, and Dan because Phil’s been moving about so much, sitting up and lying down and clenching his oddly delicate hands in the blanket when he thinks Dan isn’t paying attention.

Dan hates that Phil’s even awake. He hates that he’s awake, too, but if he’d known earlier – he wouldn’t have stayed out there, dawdling over dinner and suggesting that the three of them watch a movie. He’d understood Phil’s hesitance as just – anxiety. It wasn’t until they’d been standing in the bathroom, brushing their teeth, and Phil had spit quick and immediately turned in towards Dan, wrapping an arm around his middle and hiding his face in Dan’s neck with a sense of determination that Dan hasn’t really seen. _Oh,_ he’d thought, one bright flash of worry.

“I’m sorry,” he says, in the present. Phil makes a familiar little frustrated noise, like whatever Dan’s saying is meaningless. “Hey. Is there anything I can say that would make it better?”

Phil’s quiet, just breathing against him for a while. He shakes his head a little.

“I just want certainty,” he says, eventually. 

“Yeah,” Dan says. He reaches up, gently trailing his fingertips over Phil’s shoulder. He doesn’t really know what to say. 

“I don’t have a lot of – you know,” Phil says, quiet. “I just – I just want that.”

“Stability?” Dan offers.

Phil nods. Dan feels it more than he sees it. 

“I think that’s normal,” Dan says. 

“I know it’s normal. But I still don’t have it,” Phil says. He sounds gloomy in a way Dan doesn’t see from him very often.

“Are you okay?” Dan blurts. “Like – Alex was worried, and we haven’t really talked about this, and I don’t – is there – I don’t know what to do, here. I can tell you everything’s going to work out, but I don’t know if that’s what you want. And I don’t – I don’t want to tell you things that upset you.”

Phil’s quiet, again. Dan’s anxiety spikes, for a minute, rattling through what he’s forgotten that he should be doing or what he’s doing that he shouldn’t be or – or whatever it is that Phil could say. He doesn’t know.

“This helps,” Phil says, eventually. “Just coming here.”

\--

“Can we make the Phil thing more official?” Dan asks, over toast the next morning. 

Phil had left almost before Dan had woken up, muttering something about a meeting with a client in another time zone. Dan was too sleepy to really follow.

“There’s not actually a _we_ involved in your Phil thing,” Alex says. “Unless you want my blessing or something.”

“No, like – stupid – like, around the flat. He just needs – a place.”

Alex eyes him. “We can’t add to the lease, Danny.”

Dan huffs. “Obviously. Like, I mean – like one of those tacky signs. Or like – like a shelf for him. Something like when you adopt a kid.”

“We can’t legally adopt Phil. He’s twenty four and he’s got parents,” Alex says. Dan decides they’re just being stubborn.

“You’re a dick,” he says. 

\--

Dan – is maybe on a bit of a bender.

\--

“What’s that?” Phil says, pointing at the scrap of yellow fabric sticking out of Dan’s closet.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says. He shuts the lights out and comes to bed. “It’s just a shirt.”

\--

“I have to go back to the shop for a staff meeting, but Sarah said she’d give you free ice cream and five quid if you show up. You could be, like, the voice of the customer, since we all get so – wrapped up in the industry and everything.”

Phil gives him a yawn, which isn’t exactly promising. He rucks his glasses up off his nose and shoves a fist underneath, scrubbing at his eyes as he stands. 

“Thanks,” Dan says, softly, pulling on his shoes.

“I know you’re just scared of the dark,” Phil mumbles, digging for his own.

The walk isn’t long. Phil’s pulled on a sweater, even though it’s summer. He laughs and wraps both arms around Dan when Dan whines that he’s cold, actually, making both of them stumble through a four-legged walk for a few steps.

It’s pretty out. The streetlamps are on, but there’s still a bit of a sunset casting light over the streets as they walk. 

“I’m glad there’s no dead pigeons,” Phil says, like he’s – sort of on the same page. “Doesn’t feel right for it.”

Dan has a moment where he just – desperately wants to catch Phil’s hand, spin him around and say _I love you, you big freak._ He doesn’t, though. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, instead, smiling over at Phil. 

“I’m so glad you brought dead pigeons into this,” he says, right as they get to the shop.

He’d been worried that Phil would notice, through their big front window, but he’s busy laughing at himself when Dan opens the door for him.

“Hi, love,” Sarah calls.

Phil’s silent for a minute, not realizing that she’s looking right at him. Dan nudges him.

“Oh, hi,” Phil says, finally. “Sorry, I’ll stay out of the way, I know you have a meeting.”

“Danny,” Ellie says, turning to him with a look. Phil’s still sort of looking at the floor, nervously glancing back up to Sarah when no one says anything or makes any move to organize a meeting.

Dan sways into Phil’s space. 

“This was kind of a surprise for you,” he murmurs. 

Phil looks up, finally, wide-eyed. He just looks at Dan, for a minute, like he’s going to see the surprise on Dan’s face somehow. Dan smiles. He watches the moment when Phil looks around the shop and it finally registers.

“You made that?” he asks after a second, pointing. 

There’s a big ridiculous yellow banner over the board that usually lists the prices. _MISSING PUZZLE PIECE, PHIL HAZELNUT, ADOPTED JUNE 5TH,_ it says. Ellie helped him paint a series of puzzle pieces onto it, with one colored in in orange. They’d almost gone mental since they hadn’t had a good way to stretch the stupid thing, and it had been basically impossible to keep it from wiggling under the brushes.

Dan nods. Phil giggles, suddenly shy. He loops an arm around Dan’s waist and tugs him in close, squeezing like he doesn’t know what’ll happen if he lets go. 

Dan has a moment of wishing that they didn’t have the big window. It just feels – private, somehow. Like he didn’t think it through. Like he doesn’t want anyone outside of the five of them to see. There’s a part of him that wishes that he and Phil were just alone, even. It’s ungrateful, really, considering.

“We wanted you to know you’ve got a home here,” Sarah says. “You’re sort of our favorite.”

“Especially Danny’s,” Alex says. They give Dan a bit of a mischievous look, and Dan finds himself smiling back.

“You can’t actually live in the shop, though,” he says, tipping his head to bonk against Phil’s. “Don’t get ideas.”

“That’s okay, I have your bed,” Phil whispers back, too quiet for the rest of them to hear. He loosens his grip on Dan’s middle and wanders over to the case, where Alex and Dan had gone a little bit wild and taped up a bunch of cutouts of dinosaurs for no good reason. Phil laughs again when he sees that Alex had gone through and labelled each one with one of their names.

“Thank you,” Phil says. He’s so – earnest, suddenly. He looks Alex and Sarah in the eyes in turn, making sure that they’re listening. Ellie’s too busy with her project in the back to notice, but Dan sees Phil crane his head, trying anyways.

“So there’s not a meeting?”

Alex laughs a little, shaking their head. 

“I promised him ice cream if he came with me,” Dan says. 

Ellie pops out right on cue, holding a pint bucket. 

“Your – ” she glances up at Alex, briefly, then at Dan, narrowing her eyes. “ – pet idiot told me to put coffee in the ice cream, so if you’re up until two in the morning after this, I’d just like to say now that that’s not my fault.”

She hands it to Alex, who scoops out a cluster of single servings and pops them on top of the case. They all congregate at the far counter.

“I hate this bar counter situation,” Sarah mutters. She ends up on the far end of their little row, leaning in just to talk.

“We know,” Ellie and Alex and Dan chorus back. She rolls her eyes.

“Oh,” Phil says softly, after his first bite. Dan glances over, grinning, and catches a distinctly smug smile on Ellie’s face on Phil’s other side.

“Good?” she asks.

Phil nods, silent and wide-eyed. He goes into some kind of fugue state, apparently, carefully scooping each bite and considering it thoughtfully like it’s the most important scholarship on earth. Dan wants to laugh, watching him, but Phil’s so genuinely focused that he doesn’t want to break into whatever experience he’s having.

“That was really good, Ellie,” Phil finally says, turning away from Dan to catch her eyes. The rest of them are done already; there’s a quiet little chorus of agreement. 

“Better than hazelnut?” she asks.

Phil considers it, before finally shaking his head, smiling a little. “Hazelnut’s the perfect ice cream. Maybe I could – rotate them, though.”

“I’ll take that,” she says, obviously pleased. She and Sarah have some sort of war over the flavors going, now that it’s summer again. Dan’s pretty sure the hazelnut is on Sarah’s side of the tally sheet.

He feels fingers tangling with his own. He doesn’t look, but Phil squeezes tight for a second. He sways into Dan’s space, not quite bumping into his shoulder, just hovering beside him.

“I know I said it already, but, um, thank you,” Phil says, shy. Dan’s pretty sure it’s directed at the rest of them and not at him. 

“We wanted to make you a plaque, but Danny couldn’t find a gold seal at the craft store,” Alex says. Phil laughs. His tongue pokes between his teeth for a second, and his shoulder bumps against Dan’s. 

Dan looks up at the state of the place. It’s really – not much, he thinks. He’d really wanted to go all out with balloons and streamers and all that, but he’d had to prioritize what he could buy. He’d mostly just stuck with the banner. There’s a part of him that questions why Phil’s so thrilled; it all looks a bit mediocre now that the glow has worn off.

“ – love you all, but I’ve got a child at home who thinks I’m eating ice cream without him, so I’ll be going before my house is destroyed,” Ellie’s saying, when he finally focuses. Phil still hasn’t dropped his hand. 

Dan could stop and try to take down some of the nonsense, but – he just wants to leave it for another little bit. Maybe he’ll regret it when he opens in the morning. He doesn’t want to think about that right now.

They all trickle out. Ellie’s gone in a minute; Sarah wanders into the back to check on a machine before she leaves. Alex walks out the door behind him and Phil, but then says something about a crisp emergency and turns down the street where their grocery store is. Dan thinks it’s a bald-faced fucking lie. He doesn’t complain, though. It’s not like he doesn’t want crisps in the house, especially if Alex is paying.

He doesn’t even think to ask if Phil’s going to his own place until they’re nearly to Dan’s, and then it seems too late and too weird.

“I really – ” Phil starts, when they’re most of the way there. He dropped Dan’s hand a long time ago, but he’s still walking close by, knuckles bumping against Dan’s once in a while. “I really enjoyed that,” he finishes, softly. 

Dan turns to look at him as they walk. The streetlamps cast weird shadows across Phil’s face, shifting with every step. He can’t parse Phil’s expression very well.

He wants – he just wants to believe that it was enough. That Phil could see how much he wanted it to be enough.

“I’m glad,” he settles on saying. 

—

“Do you want to move other stuff over here?”

Phil turns to him, wrinkling his brow. He brought a toothbrush over at some point, and he’s left his green uni hoodie in Dan’s room. Other than that he doesn’t have much.

“Like, I don’t know,” Dan continues. “Pictures or something? Or – mugs? I don’t know what you have at your brother’s.”

Phil snorts. “Not much,” he says, softly.

“No?”

Dan – still doesn’t really understand the situation. Phil never seems particularly interested in discussing it. He disappears to his brother’s flat sometimes, mostly on Thursday nights, which is some sort of family skype meeting time. Dan thinks he goes over there to work, for some reason, but – he’s not really sure.

Phil’s rubbing his fingertips together, lost in thought. It’s become a familiar little rustling sound that follows Dan around.

“When I moved, I thought it wouldn’t be permanent. I just – came down for a week for a meeting and then the clients from that one offered this other job with a friend of theirs, and they were both in London so I just thought I would stay for a bit? Um, and my dad – they found out why he was ill while I was here, and my brother needs my half of the rent since he can’t really ask my mum for help, so.”

“So you’re just stuck down here?” Dan asks. 

Phil shrugs, pulling his shoulders in close and ducking his head. 

“You don’t even want to be here?” Dan presses, bewildered. Phil looks up, then, meeting his eyes for a moment. He looks worried, Dan thinks.

“There’s good things,” Phil says, carefully. 

“But you don’t – you don’t want to be in London?”

“I mean, the work is better. I can – be out. Not that I do much about that, but, um. The ice cream’s good?”

Dan snorts. “It just seems like you’re trapped here, mate.”

Phil’s still looking at him. It’s like he’s studying Dan’s face for something. Dan doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

“There’s good things,” Phil repeats. “I didn’t think it would go like this, but I want to stay, now.”

Dan’s tempted for a moment to say that ice cream isn’t a good reason to be in the city, and being mates with a random asshole you met at the ice cream store isn’t a good reason either. He doesn’t want to fight, though.

\--

Dan buys a shitty little frame with his next paycheck. It’s not much, just a postcard sized one. He gets a photo printed and feels very retro about the whole thing.

“Did you do this, Danny?” Alex asks, when they notice it on the counter over dinner. 

It’s just a bad picture of the three of them that Ellie had taken. Phil’s glaring at a cup of a mascarpone flavor that he’d deemed revolting after about three seconds. Dan’s laughing at him in the background, all blurry and playdough-faced. The right half of Alex’s face is looming in the foreground, looking at the camera. It’s a weird photo, honestly. Dan and Phil hadn’t even noticed, until Ellie had laughed and broken the spell.

He looks up, and Phil’s smiling at him. There’s a noodle still hanging out of his mouth, and his smile’s gone all crooked. It makes Dan laugh.

“You’ve got a little something,” he whispers, just to watch Phil’s big eyes crinkle at the edges.


	7. Chapter 7

“Daniel, we didn’t think this through at all. We have to have a _second_ party?” Alex is whining. They’re meant to be watching a show, again. It’s going about as well as it always does.

“I literally just said that I didn’t want one!”

“It’s your birthday,” Phil says. He sounds put-out, like he’s offended that Dan would suggest that he wouldn’t want a party on his own birthday.

“I don’t even like birthdays. I’m just getting a year closer to death, what is there to celebrate? It’s stupid.”

“We’re celebrating that you’re not an infant,” Alex says.

“We’re celebrating that cake exists,” Phil offers.

Dan turns to look up at him from his spot on the floor. “So you’re saying that on my birthday, you’re celebrating that sweets exist, and not that Dan Howell exists, is that it?”

Phil nods, serious.

“I hate you,” Dan says. 

He’s always weirdly nervous that Phil’s suddenly going to take him seriously, but he laughs like always. He tugs a little at the curl that’s between his fingers. Dan doesn’t have any particular feelings about that.

He’s pretty sure he catches Alex rolling their eyes. 

“We’ll go out on Saturday,” they say, sounding resigned, like it’s not completely their decision to do this shit. “It’ll be after your birthday, but that’s okay, right?”

Dan shrugs. He tips his head back against Phil’s knee, letting him card his fingers through the curls at the sides more easily. He thinks it probably looks like a puffy mess, now, from the crooked smile Alex is giving him, but he hums and lets his eyes slip closed when Phil runs his fingertips over the right spot.

“Right,” he says, absently.

\--

“How’s Adrian?”

“Oh, Danny,” his mum sighs. “He’s alright. I mean, you know. He’s got all his limbs, anyways. I always thought you were the most difficult between the two of you, but – christ. He’s turning into an awful teen already, and I’m not prepared.”

Dan genuinely doesn’t know what to say to that, for a moment.

“He was sort of a horrible child, anyways,” he lands on. It’s a weak fucking joke, but his mum laughs anyways. 

Adrian’s always been too – half-formed for him to properly dislike, but he privately thinks that he got the brunt of his childhood tantrums, when it was clear that their parents were out of patience.

“I’ve missed your sense of humor,” she says. “It’s too quiet here without you.”

He can’t very well tell her that he doesn’t miss being home for a minute. He can’t say that he doesn’t actually think of her house as home, even if his old room is still there and his childhood stuff is there and his mum and brother are there. He can’t say that he doesn’t miss how it was before, but he doesn’t like seeing it how it is now, either.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, lamely.

“How’s work?” she asks.

“Oh, it’s – good. It’s busy. It’s kind of mental, really, but Sarah’s pleased, and I’m working a lot, so.”

“You’re alright on rent?”

He’s not going to say no, anyways. He doesn’t really know why she asks.

“Yeah, fine,” he says. 

“And your flatmate?”

He rolls his eyes, since she can’t see. Might as well. They had a whole talk about Alex in the beginning, and a few times after that. She’d seemed fine, and then had immediately forgotten Alex’s name and anything about them other than that they lived with Dan and worked at the store with him. They’re never anything other than _your flatmate,_ said in a vague way like they’re not basically the center of Dan’s universe.

“They’re fine,” he says.

“And you’re doing well?”

It’s like she’s running down a laundry list of questions. Maybe she found it on google under a search for _questions to ask your adult son._ He doesn’t know. 

“I’m good,” he says, absently fiddling with the string on his hoodie. It doesn’t feel like a lie.

“I’m glad,” she says. “Well, anyways, happy birthday, love. I’ve got to take Adrian to the orthodontist, but I’ll talk to you soon, right?”

\--

Alex is watching him carefully when he emerges from the office, like they were waiting for him the whole time.

“How was that?” they say quietly, moving so he can get to the case to deal with the incoming group.

“Fine,” Dan says. “She’s fine.”

\--

you coming, he texts Phil. _almost out of frappuccino don’t want a crisis babe_

_,  
this is called a comma, daniel  
?  
ths is a question mark_

He tucks his phone back in his pocket, trying to turn his real smile into his customer smile. He’s in a rhythm, now; he’s not straining so much at the seams every time he has to talk to someone. His phone buzzes again while he’s ringing up the family. 

He pulls it back out, once he’s pretty sure that Ellie has the next person covered.

_can’t though,_ it says.  
 _sorry :(  
helping martyn with one of his projects and then need to work_

\--

Phil doesn’t come over that night, either. Dan stays up late watching a movie about bugs with Alex, who says something about not wasting their energy the night before Dan’s big birthday. (Dan doesn’t know what the hell kind of birthday he’s going to have or why they think it’ll be big, but he isn’t in the mood to fight about it.)

He ends up basically reporting the entirety of the movie into Phil’s texts. He doesn’t have a good reason, other than the bottle of terrible wine that the two of them are slowly emptying. 

_beetles r fucked up no good,_ he sends. He’s pretty sure he’s riffed on that theme already, but whatever.  
 _sorry  
youre busy  
the music is rly dramatic  
REALY dramatic  
okay bye for real go work sorry_

_thank you for the beetle reports,_ Phil sends, almost an hour later. Dan’s nearly asleep.  
 _sorry just busy :(_

\--

“Outfitwise,” Alex says. “This is shite.”

Dan looks down at his black t-shirt and black jeans. He’s pretty sure it was allowed the last time.

“Okay. What do you want from me?”

“I’d like for you to not look like the most boring member of The Smiths, I think.”

“I do not.”

“You look like you’re in a sad man band,” Alex informs him. “And you’re the designated tedious one.”

Dan sighs, puffing his cheeks out. It’s not like he doesn’t want to look cool, but his drawers are full of basically interchangeable t-shirts and jeans, and anyways Alex doesn’t like half of the interesting printed ones that he’s got. They’ve shoved half of his clothes into the _only around the house_ pile before; he doesn’t need to go through that again.

He follows Alex to their room, dragging his feet a little until they snap that he’s going to trip.

He ends up with – completely inexplicably – a single earring with a flamingo on it. Alex tells him that this is the only cool option, after he’s nixed a plastic tiara and a feather boa and sunglasses with one-inch rhinestones; all things Alex has found space to store for whatever reason.

“What’re you doing when you’re alone,” Dan mutters, once he’s finally free to wander out to the living room to find his shoes.

“I’m not alone,” Alex says, beaming. He decides not to think about that any further.

\--

“I like your earring,” Phil says, as soon as he spots Dan. He’d sort of startled, turning around with a little jerk in his step, like he’s surprised to see Dan at a place they said they would meet.

“Thanks,” he says. He’s weirdly warm, all of a sudden. 

He feels Alex squeeze his shoulder before they wander off to round everyone up and probably force them to come say hi to Dan. He’s realizing that this isn’t exactly a birthday party for him, so much as a night out that he just happens to be involved in.

There’s a hand on his back, then, pushing him towards the bar. 

“Two beers?” Phil asks the bartender, once they get there. He’s – surprisingly confident. “It’s nasty, but I’m skint,” he says to Dan when he catches his curious look.

“Have you been here?” Dan asks.

“With my brother.”

“The straight one?”

Phil laughs at the look on Dan’s face, then. “That one. He’s alright. He works here sometimes. I used to get dragged along.”

Dan takes the bottle when he holds it out, nodding. 

“That’s cool,” he says. He can’t really – imagine it. He’s tagged around after Alex enough, but the idea of following an actual sibling through the world is sort of bewildering.

Phil shrugs, smiling a little. He doesn’t look so impressed by the whole thing. Dan doesn’t really know what’s showing on his own face.

“Daniel!”

Dan turns, and it’s Callum, followed closely by Short James Who Callum Is Or Isn’t Dating. A memory of Alex’s voice whispering _that’s his legal fucking name_ rattles through his brain for a moment.

“Who’s this, then?” Callum’s asking him. He thinks he zoned out through the whole hello phase of the conversation, but it’s hard to say.

“Oh, uh, this is Phil? Phil, Callum, and – James the second.”

“Like the king,” Callum says, fake solemn. He turns his smile towards James for a moment, only looking back when he realizes that James has already scooted off to talk to Phil about something. “I heard it was your birthday, Dan?”

“From who?” he cracks.

Callum rolls his eyes. “Haha,” he says, sounded out. “From the birthday police.”

“Oh!” Dan hears, beside him. “I can’t believe, mate,” Short James is saying, beaming up at Phil. “You’re the actual corn starch guy from York, that’s so amazing.”

“I’m the corn starch guy,” Phil says. He sounds a bit put out, but he’s smiling anyways. 

Dan doesn’t understand how the conversation started, and Short James is already off, talking a mile a minute, barely audible over the thumping of the music. Phil seems pleased enough. 

Alex reappears at some point, while Dan’s nursing his beer and avoiding Callum even though he’s standing about two feet away. Alex is towing a little mob behind them, all smiles. Cam says hi, and then Jade, and then Lids and Frankie and Tall James and Charlie From The Shop. 

It’s not like he doesn’t like these people, but – every time he talks to them he remembers that they all hang out when he’s not there. They all have inside jokes that he doesn’t quite grasp, stories that he doesn’t understand. Alex keeps sending them over to say hi and offer him a drink or whatever, and then – he just doesn’t know much about them other than their names, really. 

He ends up bickering with Lids and Charlie about Paris Fashion Week, for no reason other than that they’ve all heard of it. Charlie’s very into colorful nonsense and keeps eyeing Dan’s all-black-everything situation, like maybe he’s got a comment trapped in his mouth.

They have fun, anyways. He likes bouncing around in a vague semblance of dancing, even if he’s sort of on the edge of their group all the time. He likes being mostly anonymous, bumping around in a crush of people who can barely see or hear him and don’t particularly care to. He likes knowing that he’s not a curiosity, here.

“Danny, birthday shots,” Alex tells him. It’s not really a question.

He shrugs. He’s only one in, really.

\--

“Can we go?”

Phil turns to look at him. He doesn’t have to go far; Dan’s already leaned well into his space just to be heard. He looks – surprised, Dan thinks. Worried, maybe.

“Are you sure?”

Dan nods. Phil goes back to Callum and Short James for a minute. It sounds like some – extended goodbye, like they’re trying to make plans or something. He can’t really follow it over the noise. 

He blinks back into focus when he feels Phil’s hand at the small of his back, gently steering him towards the door. 

Phil’s quiet for a minute once they get outside. Dan’s ears are ringing. He catches Phil sort of shaking his head as they walk, like he’ll knock his own back into functioning.

“Did you have fun?” Phil asks. Dan looks over, and he’s looking back with this – hopeful look, like he really wants to hear that Dan did have fun.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “You?”

Phil grins back, nodding. “Yeah. I really liked your friends,” he says. Dan doesn’t correct him. “I actually knew Jamie from uni, which is so weird. We met at a conference a while ago; he’s in video too.”

“Oh,” Dan says, lamely. His ears haven’t cleared, and it’s like they’re delivering clips and bits to his brain, which is just stirring them into a useless word soup.

Phil’s still looking at him, curious now. His huge blue eyes glitter under the streetlamps. He smiles again when Dan catches his eye.

“I should look at the sidewalk or I’ll trip,” Phil murmurs. It sounds like nonsense, but – Dan’s seen him run into the dining table enough to sort of believe him.

\--

Dan just wants. He doesn’t even know what he wants, really, but –

He’s staring at Phil across his pillow, exhausted and somehow so wide awake that his head is spinning a little bit, fighting with itself. His hand is clutched in the loose fabric at the small of Phil’s back. 

_This,_ his brain offers. _Maybe it’s this._

Phil’s moving across the tiny gap, then, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. He hesitates when Dan goes lockjawed for a moment. Dan sighs, closing his eyes. Phil makes a little humming noise, pressing closer. 

Phil’s sort of clumsy, and it’s awkward at this angle, both of them shoving at Dan’s soft slippery sheets to try to scoot towards each other. He’s gentle, though. Dan can tell he’s holding something back.

There’s a leg between his. It’s not quite pressing, but it’s – a question, he thinks. 

He rolls his hips up. He bumps almost painfully against Phil’s hip bone. Phil pulls back to watch him.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers.

Dan nods, biting the edge of his lower lip between his teeth so hard that it hurts. He tries to keep his eyes open, his mouth shut. He tugs at Phil’s shirt, still clenched in his hand, until Phil gets the point and rolls on top of him, clumsily shuffling so he can straddle Dan’s hips.

He’s so – delicate, Dan thinks. It’s reassuring and familiar and somehow weird to have his weight leaning into him.

Phil presses down. Dan takes a stuttering little gasp of air in, tipping his head back. It’s not much, but it’s been so long. Phil ducks his head into the empty space, mouthing at Dan’s arched neck. 

Phil’s careful. He pulls the collar of Dan’s shirt to the side to get at his collarbone, instead, kissing and nibbling at him where no one will see. There’s a tentative hand under Dan’s shirt, just sitting warm at his waist. Dan wiggles, trying to pull it over his head without dislodging Phil. Phil sits up, anyways. He moves back, and ends up hovering over Dan’s knees for a split second before Dan realizes and pulls his legs out of the way. 

Phil tries to wiggle out of his own shirt, but he doesn’t quite get all of the buttons. He ends up trapped in it. Dan hears him huff, first, and then – he’s giggling.

“Help,” Phil whines, quiet and breathy like he’s trying not to break the spell.

It’s like he’s hit with a bucket of ice water.

This is Phil. _His_ Phil, the Phil who needs him to be a good friend and not a random fuck. Phil, who’s been so kind and so willing to come back to Dan even when he’s being a monster again, who just needs Dan to make the difficult choice for once in his fucking life.

He leans forward on instinct, reaching. He tangles his fingers in Phil’s shirt and tugs it back down. He watches when Phil’s fingers stop fighting him, going slack and uncertain.

It’s like Phil’s already resigned to it, before he can even see Dan’s face. He looks – Dan doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to see the look on Phil’s face at all. He pulls his legs in closer, scooting back a bit so he can slump into the wall behind his bed. It’s like something’s skittering under his skin, and it’s – him, he thinks. He’s still and behaved on the outside, but he’s whirling under his own skin, impulsively moving like he always is.

“Sorry,” Phil says, softly. 

Dan can’t make heads or tails of what he’s saying. Phil’s looking at him and he doesn’t want to think about why.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Phil continues. “It’s not – sorry. I wasn’t really thinking, I guess.”

Dan squeezes his eyes shut, then, realizing what Phil’s saying. It’s simpler. It’s simpler if he thinks that.

“Yeah. Can we just sleep?” he manages. He’s not looking when Phil nods, but he feels the hand on his arm, gently pulling him down towards the sheets.

\--

He wakes up to Alex tucking their knees into the spaces behind his own, arm settling warm and heavy over his middle.

_Just me,_ they whisper when he grunts.

\--

“What happened?” Alex says, when Dan’s finally settled with his toast.

“Not much,” Dan mumbles, halfway through a bite. “Just wanted to go home and sleep.”

“Phil said to check on you. He said you – y’know.”

Dan blinks, surprised that Phil would say anything. Not like Alex is a stranger, but – well. 

“I don’t know,” he says, slow.

“He said you didn’t.”

_Oh._ Dan takes a sip of his water, trying to buy time to figure out what the hell kind of conversation these two had. He doesn’t know exactly what Phil would’ve said; he’s caught off guard that he said anything at all. 

“Is this about –” Alex starts.

“I was drunk,” Dan blurts. It isn’t really true, but it’s not _false,_ either. It’s just – easier. It’s just easier if everyone thinks it’s a one off, just one bad night. He doesn’t really know if Alex will bite, but – he doesn’t want to think that through.

“Danny.”

“Which is a good thing, right,” Dan argues, carefully. “I mean.”

“You know that sounds like bullshit, right,” Alex says. They’re too fucking awake for Dan to keep up with.

Dan takes a breath. He stands before he really knows what he’s doing. Their eyes widen like they’re surprised, somehow.

Dan leaves.

\--

He retreats the same way he always does. He puts his headphones on and pulls his extra winter blanket down from the top of his rickety dresser. He has to strip down to just his pants since it’s sweltering and it’s only going to make him miserable in a minute, but – he’s methodical. There’s a routine. He can be matter of fact about it.

\--

Alex opens his door and leaves another plate of toast on the floor. It’s not quite an apology, but it’s the best the two of them can manage, most days.

\--

He texts Phil, at some point. It’s just a simple _hi._ He doesn’t know if he’s ever sent that before.

_hi!  
are you at the shop?_

_no,_ Dan says.

_okay :(  
thought i could escape ellie  
feeling better?_

_much  
thanks_

There’s a long pause, then. Phil’s typing bubbles pop up so many times that Dan gives up and goes to fuck around in Alto’s Adventure. He zooms through a night forest for a while, zoning out to the music. He finally gets another buzz after what feels like ages.

_kind of busy  
i’ll try to stop by soon :)_


	8. Chapter 8

“– she asked for four scoops, and I said, in a cup? And she said no, on a cone. Danny – _four?_ On a cone?”

Ellie’s waving her hands around, all animated. She takes another sip of her coffee.

“I’m so glad it’s not busy,” she continues. “Alex was talking to someone else this whole time and I’m stuck there trying to stack, like, an entire pint into a cone for this lady. Oh, christ, I very nearly lost it. I was dying to tell someone.”

Dan laughs. He knows that feeling, of not being able to say anything until the rush is done. Ellie smiles, shaking her head.

He feels – good, he decides. He’s not cloudy. He likes working with someone else always beside him, even if it’s cramped behind the counter and too busy for his tastes. He’ll probably see Phil tonight or tomorrow, once he’s over this next work bender.

 _do you think a pint would fit on a cone,_ he texts Phil.

_if you believe in yourself_

_not what ellie wants to hear lol_

\--

“Sarah says Phil hated this, but she wanted us to try it because she wants to bring it in anyways,” Alex says, wiggling the jar between their fingers so Dan can see before putting it in the freezer.

Dan looks up.

“He hasn’t been in.”

“He came in while you were out,” Alex says, like it’s simple. “I just said that.”

\--

He hasn’t seen Phil in more than a week, now. He gets little reports from Sarah and Ellie and Alex at the start, but then – nothing. It’s like he disappears.

He really thought Phil would want – more than that. He doesn’t really know why he thought that.

\--

_can you come over tonight?  
i want to get a level fourteen zoo_

_e_e_

_what’s that then  
there’s jaguars i must have them_

_are you just gonna yell at me about bananas_

_no.  
maybe  
i just miss having you here_

_ok_

It doesn’t seem at all promising. Phil doesn’t even update him on whether he’s coming; he just gets that little _ok,_ and then dead silence for hours.

“We should talk,” Dan says, as soon as he opens the door. He doesn’t mean to blindside Phil, but he watches the way he shrinks, anyways.

“Oh,” Phil says.

Dan studies him for a second. He doesn’t look like he doesn’t want to be here. He just looks – uncertain. Like Dan’s already knocked him off balance, maybe.

“We can play Zoo Tycoon and… also talk?” he says, trying again. Phil nods.

“Okay, well, uh. Come in,” Dan continues, awkward. He can’t even remember the last time he’d greeted Phil at the door like it wasn’t his house. Phil follows him in, taking off his shoes before he goes to the couch.

He sits while Dan sets up the game, but it’s stiff and weird, like the upright version of his mummy sleeping. Dan glances at him while he opens their saved file, and Phil has his lower lip between his teeth. His fingertips are rubbing against each other. Dan leaves him alone.

“The macaws can go over there,” Phil says, quietly. He’s been messing with his phone for a minute.

“Where?”

“With the snakes.”

Dan – normally would argue, but. He’s trying.

“That’s fucked up,” he says instead. He puts the two of them in with the snake exhibit, anyways. He stops and hovers over the area for a minute, trying to figure out if they’re going to eat each other and have a big bird-on-snake war or something.

“I’m really sorry,” Phil says. It takes Dan a second to realize he’s not apologizing for the possible start of World War Bird.

“For what?”

“For the other night.”

Dan turns to look at him, but Phil’s looking firmly down, shoulders pulled in tight, fingers still working against each other. He turns away. He doesn’t want it to be – uneven, or something. It doesn’t seem like Phil wants to look at him.

“It’s fine.”

“No,” Phil blurts, quicker than Dan expected. “I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t have kissed you. It wasn’t right.”

“It’s fine,” he says. _I liked it,_ he wants to say. _I like you._ He clamps his mouth shut. He doesn’t think Phil can deal with him blurting out whatever he wants and muddying the water, right now.

Phil’s quiet for a minute. Dan tries to focus on putting hot dog stands all over the damn place. He doesn’t know how many hot dog stands is the right number of hot dog stands, but – a lot, he thinks. Computer generated guests _love_ hot dog stands.

“They’re gonna have to swallow so many hot dogs,” Phil says. “How’ll they fit.”

Dan laughs, turning to steal a glance over his shoulder at Phil. He’s blushing bright red. He’s staring at his hands in his lap, still, but there’s an uncertain little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not really good at – reading people. I don’t always get it,” Phil says, so quiet.

“That’s okay.”

“No, I mean.” He makes a frustrated little noise. There’s more rustling. “I didn’t mean to push you, especially if you were pissed,” he lands on, eventually. “I just – I just thought – I don’t know.”

“Oh, no,” Dan says. It’s dawning on him that he’s really fucked this up for Phil. “I wasn’t. You didn’t do that. I mean, I was – but. Like, it’s not the first time. I don’t mind, and –”

“Dan,” Phil says, interrupting.

He doesn’t continue, after that, though. Dan squirms a little, trying to loosen his shoulders from where they’ve gone weird and tense. He doesn’t think he’s making much sense, but he needs Phil to know that it’s not about anything he’s done.

“It wasn’t that I was drunk, Phil. I was a little, but – no. It wasn’t that, it’s just – it’s like a whole – a big thing. It’s just my fault, though. You’re – you’re really cool, mate, seriously. I’m sorry it’s – that it didn’t work out.”

“Oh,” Phil says, quiet.

“We’re okay? Like, you get that you didn’t – you didn’t do anything wrong, right?”

He catches Phil nod out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Dan smiles a little, then. He reaches over, passing Phil the controller. “You want to figure out where the elephants should go?”

\--

_on shift no ellie :)_

_ok_

He stares at it, for a while. It’s so simple. It’s just two letters. He wants to ask if Phil’s okay, but then – he’s always stressed about work. It’s probably better if Dan doesn’t distract him from that. Dan pockets his phone before Alex can catch him, smiling back at them when they turn to ask for an extra kid’s cup of strawberry.

\--

He doesn’t get much, after the ok. Phil must be properly wrung out or something. _It’s because you won’t sleep with him,_ his brain helpfully offers, at one point. Well, more than once. Kind of a lot. He tries to push it out of the way. Phil just needs a steady hand, is all. Someone who gets that sometimes he doesn’t want to talk much. It’s fine.

Dan should probably be worried about how often he has to tell himself that it’s fine.

_on shift  
yes ellie but i saved you some frapp and she says she’ll be nice? running out again  
*~*starbucks gang*~*_

_i’m up north  
sorry_

_oh  
okay!  
everything alright?_

_yeah fine_

_okay :)  
have fun  
say hi to sheeps_

_i will lol_

\--

He texts Phil idle thoughts, sometimes. Sometimes it’s just a picture of the street at sunset as he’s walking home, or a nice bird he saw, or a link to a video about some Buffy joke that he doesn’t really understand, but that seems like something Phil would like. Phil usually replies.

\--

There’s a hand on each of his shoulders, spinning him around.

Sarah’s staring at him when he turns.

“I’ll deal with the napkins,” he says. He already knows what she’s going to say.

She gives him a look that doesn’t match up, though.

“Danny.”

“What?”

“Where’s my other son? Did you kill hazelnut man again?”

He shrugs out of her grasp. He grabs a rag and turns away, quickly wiping the counter behind the case. He knows it’s a tell, but he just – can’t stop.

“He said he’s up north with his parents,” he says.

“We adopted him and he left?” she asks, all fake-offended, face scrunching up in distaste.

“His dad’s ill.”

“Oh,” she says, softer. “Is he alright?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t – I don’t know. He doesn’t really talk to me much.” He looks back when the door dings, shoving the rag quickly into the wash pile. Sarah’s giving him a look, but he pastes his work smile on. He doesn’t think she can take issue with that.

\--

Alex always sort of frowns at him when they catch him with a rosary.

He knows it’s touchy, but – well. He also knows he’s meant to just sit there silently and meditate or something, like a normal person. He’s meant to do yoga and think about his toes grounding him in the earth.

He just hates that, is all. He doesn’t like listening to his thoughts rattling around. He doesn’t like wondering why feet exist or why he can’t reach his toes like the booklet says to.

He’s always wanted noise. It’s like when he played piano, as a kid, getting lost in the quiet chimes and the repetition of doing it right. It feels like jumping on the bed, screaming until he’s worn himself out. It feels like climbing a tree until the earth below him quiets down.

He likes thinking that his nana would smile if she knew, even though he doesn’t want to tell her that he does this.

“Alright?” Alex asks, when he finally puts it in his pocket.

Dan shrugs.

“D’you think Phil’s angry with me?”

Alex hums.

“You are sort of infuriating,” they say, mild.

Dan nods. He knows he’s meant to – do something about that, rather than just decide that it’s a fundamental part of him. He hasn’t really told Alex about that part. He thought it was sort of stupid, at the time.

\--

He ends up texting Phil the next morning, while he’s home alone on a rare day off.

_can i call?_  
_so bored_  
_and just wanted to talk i guess_

_ok,_ Phil answers, almost as soon as Dan hits send. Dan dials before he can think.

“Hi?”

“Hey,” Phil says. He sounds – annoyed, kind of.

“How are you?”

“Great.”

“Yeah?”

There’s a long pause. Dan doesn’t really understand why Phil said he could call if he doesn’t actually want to talk. Or not to Dan, anyways. He doesn’t know. He pulls his phone away from his face, trying to take a steadying breath.

“Yeah. Doing fine,” Phil lands on.

“Okay,” Dan says. He can hear how uncertain and stupid he sounds. “Um, Sarah asked, so. Thought I’d check in.”

“Thanks,” Phil says, quiet. He doesn’t sound thankful.

This isn’t really going how Dan had pictured.

“Do you want me to stop bothering you? I mean, I don’t know, I figured you’re busy but maybe you’d want a distraction, or maybe you’re bored since you’re up there, and – well. I don’t know. Is that – does it help?”

Phil falls silent, again. Dan wishes he could see his face. He wants to ask if he can facetime him, for a minute, but – it doesn’t seem like Phil’s jumping to talk to him. Maybe it’s too much. It’s probably too much.

“It’s great,” Phil says. He doesn’t sound right. He doesn’t sound like – but Dan doesn’t know, either. He wouldn’t know.

“Okay,” he says, softly. “Okay, great. I’ll talk to you soon?”


	9. Chapter 9

“Where’s Phil?”

Dan shrugs, trying to shake the last of the water out of the pasta. “I think he’s still up north? He doesn’t really talk to me much.”

He turns, and – he doesn’t really know what he was expecting from Alex, but it should’ve been this. There’s none of the gentle joking that Sarah gave him a few days ago.

“What’d you do, Danny?”

“Nothing. His dad’s ill, he’s at home, I think.”

“And what? This is the middle ages, he can’t send a messenger?”

“He’s just busy,” Dan protests, dumping the pasta into a tupperware and getting the sauce from the cupboard.

“What’d you do?” Alex repeats, stubborn.

“I didn’t _do_ anything.”

“I heard about that part.”

“Alex,” he huffs. “Do you want pasta or not?”

“I don’t want your lying pasta, actually.”

Dan pauses in the middle of scooping out a second bowl. He turns to glare at them and finds that they’re already glaring at him anyways. Alex brings the flat back of their hand up to their chin, like they’re framing their mean face so Dan can remember how annoying he is.

“Eat dirt,” he says. It’s a weak joke. It would make someone else laugh, maybe. Not Alex, and not now. It’s like the frustration rushes through him, reminding every inch of him down to his toenails that he’s aggravating in a way he can’t seem to shake.

“Why do you even care?” he blurts out, plopping down at the table with only his bowl. 

Alex rolls their eyes and stands to get their own, mumbling something.

“What?”

“He’s my friend too.”

“He doesn’t sleep in your bed,” Dan parrots, petulant. 

He mis-times it. Alex flicks him on the side ear as they pass, earning a shriek from Dan.

“Weird fucking standard for a friend, Danny.”

“I sleep in your bed,” he protests. “And you’re a friend.”

Alex crosses their eyes at him for a moment, shoveling in a mouthful. They both fall silent, too distracted with eating. Dan tries to focus his attention on the pasta, but it’s plain, boring, and barely worth paying attention to. He’s squirmy and irritated after only a few minutes.

“I don’t get it,” Dan finally says. He’s trying to learn to try a different tactic, sometimes. He’s not very good at it.

“I know you don’t,” Alex mumbles into their pasta.

“Alex.”

They glance up. There’s a little waver in Dan’s voice, now. He can hear it. It sounds stupid. Uncertain, like he doesn’t – like he doesn’t want to be.

“Danny,” they say, slowly and soft and gentle like he needs to be coddled or something. “You asked this guy to practically live here. And he really likes you, but he’s scared of you.”

“No,” Dan protests. “No one is.”

“He’s scared of everyone,” Alex corrects. “And like – I mean, he lives in your room. And you won’t let him do anything more than that. And you said he thinks he’s fucked up, right?”

“No,” Dan blurts, again. Alex raises their eyebrows, expectant.

“I said it wasn’t that. I said it was just – me. You know. I didn’t say exactly, but like –”

Alex – winces, sort of. They go wide eyed for a moment, but not in the older sibling tell-me-what-I-expect-to-hear way that Dan usually gets. They look – genuinely surprised, Dan thinks. Confused, like maybe he did something they weren’t expecting. 

He had to tell Phil _something._ He can’t understand why they didn’t see that coming.

“Okay,” they finally say, drawn out. “And then he fucked off to an Arctic expedition?”

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly bold and annoyed again.

“After you told him that you didn’t want to do that, for – um. An indeterminate reason that you won’t say to his face?”

“I don’t get it.”

Alex blinks at him for a moment, still bewildered. They make a little whining noise, flopping forward to spread their fingers across their forehead, elbows resting on the table.

“Alex?”

“I’ll be here all night,” they say into their hands.

\--

Dan ends up tucked against Alex’s side, by the end. He can’t remember why. He thinks his voice is a little hoarse, and he’s pretty sure Alex is almost properly asleep.

“You really think he likes me?” he says, anyways.

“Wh – ?”

He looks up, and Alex is frowning at the light above the couch like it’s done them some sort of wrong.

“You really think he likes me?” he repeats. 

Alex taps a finger against his forehead, yawning. “You’re oblivious,” they murmur.

Dan doesn’t think they’re wrong, but he never knows if it’s just – the fact that he’s actually properly stupid, or that he chooses to ignore some things. 

“And you really think he thinks that I think that he’s ugly?” he says. His voice sounds like shit, actually. He’s just decided.

“Talk to me when you want to put words in order,” they say, sleepy.

“He thinks I don’t like him,” Dan repeats, more certain.

“That is what I said an hour ago, yes.” 

Dan huffs and flops his head back on Alex’s shoulder with more force than is strictly necessary.

\--

“How’d you know that Robbie liked you?” Dan finds himself blurting out. 

Ellie gives him an odd look. “Is this about Phil Hazelboy?” she asks, careful.

He frowns back. He never likes the idea that everyone knows something and he’s the dumbass. He’s only alright with being a dumbass when someone else is a dumbass with him, or even more of a dumbass than he is, ideally. Instead he’s just surrounded by a bunch of horrible know-it-alls. _You should quit and move to Portugal,_ his brain offers. Fucking useful.

“No,” he mutters, sulky. He thinks he catches Ellie rolling her eyes.

\--

_ellie said you asked her why she thinks her husband likes her,_ Alex texts not ten minutes later.

_NOT what i said  
i hate you people_

“Actually shut up,” he says to Ellie, outloud. She flashes him a smile and closes the office door in his face.

\--

“Alex told me what you did,” Ellie says, as Dan’s pulling off his apron. He looks up, uncertain. He’s feeling a little – off-kilter, now. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re pretty dense,” she says. She’s grinning.

\--

It’s not like he needs to work up _the_ nerve. He just needs a nerve, he decides. Any nerve will do. He’d steal Alex’s nerve, if he could.

He says as much, blurting it out in the middle of a thought.

Alex stares at him.

“Mate,” they say, slowly. “Are you on earth?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I just need to – it says on yahoo answers, like –”

“Yahoo answers?” Alex repeats, soft and bewildered.

“ – yeah? You’re meant to just work up the nerve to say something, but I don’t – I mean. How do you know if you’re working on the right nerve? I think I need someone else’s.”

“You have my last nerve,” Alex says solemnly, instead of laughing like Dan had sort of hoped.

“I do? Where?”

“You’re stomping on it.”

\--

It’s a week later. A whole week, and he’s going slightly mental, if he’s honest.

He feels like he’s tried going forwards, and backwards, and sideways and diagonal and upside-down and right-side-up towards it, and still – nothing. He’s been hovering over his phone like it’s a live thing, carefully taking it with him everywhere and fussing over it constantly. _Now,_ he keeps thinking. _Now, now. Maybe now?_

It’s sitting still in his hands, anyways. He’s only really managed to text his mum. And Sarah, but only after she’d asked Alex if he was dead. That doesn’t count, he doesn’t think.

_hi._

He jolts.

_N O,_ he types out. He backspaces it.

_hi,_ he says instead. His forehead wrinkles in concentration, tongue poking out past his teeth.

There’s nothing, for a minute.

_are you okay hazelbot?_ he writes.

_alex said to text you_

Dan’s moving to Alex’s contact before he can even think, itching fingers hovering over the call icon. They’re at work, though. He can’t really – he doesn’t think Sarah would appreciate it, even if she’s used to dealing with his stupid impulses. He switches to text, types out a quick _fuck you_ and sends it before he switches back to Phil. He figures Alex will make the connection.

He doesn’t know what to do about Phil. 

He calls, instead. It rings for a while.

“Hi?” Phil says when he picks up. He sounds tired.

“Alex said you should text me?” Dan blurts. 

“Yeah.”

Dan squirms. Phil’s so quiet. He doesn’t know if he should push. He doesn’t know what Alex said, or what Phil really thinks is going on, or why he’s up north, or how long he’s been there, or – or anything, really. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know where to start.

“Alex thinks you like me,” Dan says. 

Phil’s silent on the other end. Dan wishes, not for the first time, that he could see his face.

“I really want to see your face,” he adds. 

Phil’s quiet, still. 

“Phil,” Dan says. He tries not to sound – plaintive. It’s not like he’s begging. He’s just saying stupid things, one after the other, like a stupid thing machine.

“Have you seen Rube Goldberg machines?” he says. He can’t stop. Phil’s stonewalling him and he’s just saying nonsense, now. 

He thinks he hears Phil snort. “Yeah,” he finally says, so quiet Dan’s not sure if he heard right.

“They’re so cool,” Dan blurts. “There’s this one in a person’s kitchen that I saw, and they use grapes as a pendulum? And they have a pitcher in the sink, so they turn the sink on, and then the pitcher tips into a cup, and that makes the dominoes go, and it’s like – that’s what my brain’s like, I think. I don’t know how they test them? Like how do you know if that’s going to work, you know? How do you know if it’ll hit the next thing and generate enough force? It kind of just seems like magic, except magic isn’t real, so that doesn’t make any sense. There must be a method, though, right? They must have some kind of secret club.”

“Faith,” Phil says, quiet, caught halfway between one word and the next. Dan’s rambling. 

Dan’s awful.

He draws his lower lip between his teeth, biting hard. He swallows, willing his throat to stop folding inwards. He listens to Phil’s breathing on the other end. It’s like Phil doesn’t even notice.

“Why’d Alex say to text me?” he finally manages, slow and careful like he’s meant to.

“Just said to,” Phil says.

“I shouldn’t have called.”

Phil’s quiet, again. Dan can barely stand it. He just – he knows what to do with noise. He likes noise; he gets along with it. He doesn’t know what to do with this. 

“I don’t mind listening,” Phil says, softly. Dan doesn’t know what to do with that, either, he realizes. He doesn’t really know why he called. He doesn’t think Phil even likes talking on the phone.

“Alex said they thought you liked me,” Dan blurts.

“Yeah,” Phil says.

“Do you?”

There’s another pause.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it.”

“What?” Dan says. “I mean? I mean, I guess not, no? I just – I really like you, so. But I guess it – if you don’t, like, then it doesn’t matter in – in the great scheme of the universe, no. It won’t make a difference.”

“You like me?” Phil says. Dan imagines him, wide eyed on the other end. He’s so sure that that’s the look on Phil’s face, for just a second. It feels like he actually knows him, maybe.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, obviously. You’re cute, and – um, and other important things, so. It’s just – we just moved too fast,” he says. It’s like his mouth is a runaway train.

“Sure,” Phil says, uncertain.

“Not too fast,” Dan blurts. “Not like – not like you were too fast, right. It’s just that I didn’t –”

He stumbles to a stop for a second. He’s suddenly entranced by a pill in the yarns of his sock. He has to – he reaches down, yanking at it with his fingernails, even though they’re short now and he can’t really get at it properly.

“Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“Um,” Phil says.

“Oh. Oh. It’s – what was I talking about? Oh, no. It’s just – I didn’t think – like. I didn’t really plan on dating, right now, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Phil says, quickly, like he’s caught on that he has to jam every one of his words in between Dan’s stupid rambling.

“That makes me sound like a control freak. I mean, I am, but I’m shit at it. You can probably tell right now, but – no, like, I just had a plan. And that’s – and that’s all for a little bit later.”

There’s a pause, again, like Phil’s thinking. Dan thinks he hears some sort of rustling, but he can’t tell what it is.

“So you do like me, or you don’t like me?” Phil says, slowly.

“Yeah,” Dan says, fingers tangling in his hoodie string and fussing with the plastic end cap where it’s starting to crack.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Dan says. He’s definitely repeating himself. He doesn’t think he’s making a whole lot of sense. 

“I’m taking the train down to London tomorrow,” Phil says. “So I’ll –”

“I can pick you up,” Dan blurts. 

He doesn’t – it’s not like he has a car. He’d just take the tube and then go to the train station just to – what? Stand around and then take the tube home? Help Phil pull a suitcase? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t really care, either, he decides. 

“Oh,” Phil says, soft and uncertain.

“Would that work?”

“Um. I think so. I’ll see you then?”

\--

He wakes up to Alex whacking him on the head with a pillow. Repeatedly, actually. It’s in his top ten worst ways to wake up.

“Fuck you,” he mumbles into his only remaining pillow. He tries to pull his duvet back over his shoulders.

“Fuck your alarm you lazy tyke,” Alex says, giving him one last good thwack before they drop the pillow on his head. Dan grabs for it, instead, pulling the edges closer to his head to seal out the light.

“Am I working?” Dan says, muffled.

“No, but Phil texted you half an hour ago that he’ll be at Euston in twenty minutes.”

Dan yelps. “Why are you reading my texts?” he shouts at the closing door, rolling out of bed.

It doesn’t really improve from there. He manages to hork down a handful of hobnobs, which probably counts as breakfast. He almost walks to work instead of the tube, and has to turn around and retrace his steps for a while.

_i’m here,_ Phil texts, when Dan’s still ages away.

_omw!_

It’s nice out, too early in the morning to be sickly warm yet. He tilts his face up to the sun, for a moment, just to enjoy it instead of cursing at it.

\--

“Dan?”

Dan turns. Phil’s weaving towards him through the crowd. Dan watches him veer off course a few times, like he’s almost tripped over someone that’s too small to see. His hair’s flopped haphazardly over his forehead, glasses perched on his nose instead of contacts. He’s only dragging one small bag.

“Can I take that?” Dan says, reaching for it. Phil nods, awkwardly scooting it in his direction until Dan can get to the handle. 

“Hi,” he says, once he’s passed it off.

“Hi, Phil. How was the train?”

“Slept through it, honestly,” Phil says. “Hoping there’s still people alive between here and there.”

Dan laughs, wrinkling his nose a bit. Phil’s jokes are always so odd. He’d really thought that he would learn to predict them, but he hasn’t, for some reason.

“Thanks for – picking me up,” Phil says, awkward. Dan still doesn’t know what the fuck he meant when he’d offered that. Phil sounds mostly sincere, though. Like Dan really did something.

“Yeah, of course.”

They walk a ways without saying much. Phil yawns, and Dan takes it as permission to get lost in his own universe. 

“Can I have my bag back?” he hears. It’s – he turns, looking for Phil, but the voice is too far away and – oh.

“Sorry,” he says, sheepish. He almost trips, trying to turn and drag the bag and hurry back to where Phil’s stopped. “Is this your road then?”

Phil’s smiling at him, soft and sleepy. He takes the handle when Dan holds it out. “Yeah,” he says, quiet. “Thanks.”


	10. Chapter 10

_can i come over_

Dan blinks down at his phone. He’d yanked it out of his pocket in the middle of doing the dishes from last night, surprised into impulsiveness by the buzzing. His hands are still a little bit soapy. He tries wiping one on a towel without dropping his phone, which goes about as well as could be expected.

It’s just – he’s only just left Phil at his road. He doesn’t understand why Phil would act like he was going home, and then ask to come over a minute later. He didn’t expect him to want to come over at all, considering. _You were meant to wait,_ his brain offers. _You ditched him._

_yeah of course,_ he types out quickly. He stares at it until he gets a response.

_ok_  
thanks  
one sec 

He’s worked himself into a fit by the time Phil buzzes their door. He’s got the hoover out for – reasons that are sort of beyond his understanding. 

Phil has to buzz twice, since Dan doesn’t hear the first one over the racket he’s making. He bolts for the door, almost skidding out in his socked feet.

“Hi,” he says, as soon as he gets the door open. “Was I meant to wait for you?”

Phil’s on their landing. He has his old familiar backpack slung over his shoulders, one arm crossed over his chest, gripping the opposite strap. He looks – exhausted, Dan thinks. 

“No,” Phil says. “Um. I got home and my brother’s having mates over, so.”

“At nine in the morning?” Dan asks, finally shuffling back to let him in. 

“Yeah,” Phil says, managing about half of a smile. “Proper lunatic, that man.”

“Bizarre. I’m glad you’re here,” Dan blurts. 

“Sorry.”

“I’m glad, mate. I just said I’m glad,” Dan repeats, forehead wrinkling. 

Phil shrugs like he hasn’t really heard, or maybe what Dan’s saying doesn’t really matter.

“Okay,” he says, quiet. 

Dan studies him for a minute. His fingertips are brushing against each other again, and his shoulders are hunched in defensively. Dan doesn’t know what he’s defending against. He hopes it’s not him, but – he doesn’t know that. 

Phil toes off his shoes. When he turns back, he meets Dan’s eyes for a moment and Dan finally catches the smudges under his eyes. 

He doesn’t – really know what he’s meant to do, here.

“Did you sleep?”

Phil shrugs, silent.

“You wanna come sit on the couch and watch me harass some monkeys?”

“I’m meant to be doing work,” Phil says.

“Oh. Uh. Do you want to maybe not do that, since you look like you’re going to fall over?”

He doesn’t quite get a real nod from Phil, but he doesn’t get a no, either. He puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him around, careful not to make him stumble. Phil lets him ease his backpack off, wiggling his arms out of the straps eventually, with a little flicker in his hands like he thinks he’s helping. Dan leaves it by their shoes. He nudges Phil towards the couch once he’s done.

Phil curls up on the far end, and Dan grabs their blanket off of Alex’s beanbag and tosses it in Phil’s direction, watching anxiously until he untangles it.

He tries to focus on the game. Or, well. On anything other than Phil, really. Sometimes he puts the controller down and messes with his phone for a minute while the game runs, but he zooms in over the polar bears, so at least Phil has something to look at. 

It just feels – like he would be invading Phil’s space, or something, if he started staring at him all the time, when he’s so reluctant to even be here. He’s just hiding out from his brother’s friends, anyways. It’s not like he would be in Dan’s living room if he could avoid it.

That’s why Dan doesn’t realize, he thinks. By then he’s too late.

There’s a little choked-off sound. He turns, finally. Phil’s curled into a tiny little lump under the blanket, like he’s trying to disappear into it. He’s pulled a pillow up to his face. He falls quiet again, and Dan can’t really see what’s going on.

“Phil, mate?” he says, uncertain. The blanket lump shifts.

“All good,” he hears a little muffled voice say, eventually. 

“Oh, yeah. Sounds great.”

The pillow hits him in the face. He squawks on instinct, batting at it with his fists even though it’s already fallen away.

When he looks up again, Phil’s staring at him. His face is all wet, and it’s crumpling funny, like he’s barely hanging on to a normal expression.

“Hey,” Dan says, gentle.

“You don’t even like me. Why –”

“Um. I do, actually. I said that last night.”

Phil’s shaking his head, frowning at him with this stubborn look like they’ve been fighting about this for ages, not for five minutes. “You don’t like me. You don’t, and my brother’s a dick, and I haven’t got a house or any friends here other than a stupid bloke at the ice cream shop that doesn’t like me and I hate my job and –”

“Phil,” Dan interrupts. He doesn’t actually have anything else to say. 

Phil studies him for a moment. His face starts to crumple, again, like –

“Phil,” Dan says, suddenly a little bit desperate. “It’s not that I don’t like you, mate.”

Phil’s staring at him, bleary-eyed. He doesn’t question it, but his mouth is clamped shut anyways. Dan doesn’t really know what that means.

“And you’ve got a house here if you want it,” Dan continues, uncertain. “I know that’s – I know it’s complicated. But it’s still here, if that means anything.”

Phil gives him a little nod. He doesn’t look particularly pleased.

“I can’t really do much about your brother. Um, I mean. I could whack him, if you want, but I’m not very good at it.”

“Hit him with an ice cream spoon.” 

Dan’s surprised into laughing. It doesn’t feel like the time for it, but Phil cracks a wobbly looking smile. 

“Can I please give you a hug?” Dan says, softly. “For my sake.”

Phil nods. He sits up a little. Dan sort of wants to just tackle him, dive into his chest and hide under the blanket with him until they fall asleep.

He scoots over, instead, shuffling until he’s almost at Phil’s side. He sits cross legged, angled towards him, and tugs at Phil’s blanket lump. Phil tips into him. He feels a clumsy hand land on his back. It’s like Phil’s – forgotten, or something, how close they used to sit. 

“I really like you,” Dan says.

“Whatever,” Phil mumbles. Dan supposes he probably deserves that.

“Actually, though.”

“Shuddup.”

“No, like,” Dan starts. He tries to pull away to look at Phil, but Phil clamps his hand in Dan’s shirt, clinging. “I just – you’re really lovable.”

“My mum says that,” Phil mutters.

Dan huffs. “Not in a mum way, you tit.”

Phil makes a cranky little noise, like he’s over using words. 

Part of Dan wants to have a massive tantrum over how Phil’s refusing to talk, but at the same time, Phil’s got his shirt bunched in his fists, wet face hidden against his shoulder, and that’s – that should be enough for Dan, if he thinks about it for a minute. Phil just needs someone to stick with him. Dan can do that much.

“You’re really funny,” he continues, softer. “You’re cute, which I’ve told you like, twelve times now, so if I tell you again I think you’re going to get a big head.”

“Once.”

“What?”

“You said that once.”

“You’ve been counting?”

“One isn’t a big number.”

“Okay. Yeah, no. Hang on. I remembered that I said it once, I just thought – nevermind. Don’t _pinch_ me, excuse me! I’m not telling you anything nice if you’re going to be like that. You’re horrid, actually.”

“You just said you liked me,” Phil informs him.

“That Dan was an idiot.”

“That was three minutes ago.”

“Well,” Dan says. “Pretty bold of you to suggest that I’m not still an idiot.”

Dan sort of thinks that Phil is going to protest against that, tell him that he’s not an idiot and that he likes him too and that this was all a mistake and – and this situation is still Dan’s fault. He can’t daydream his way out of it. 

Phil’s hand clenches in his shirt, again. He makes a funny little noise, like it’s escaping without his permission.

“You good there?” Dan says, uncertain.

“I just thought I’d understand,” Phil says, quiet. “And I still – I don’t.”

“Understand what?”

“People. You.”

“You understand me,” Dan says. He shifts, trying to rearrange the two of them into a less awkward position without losing his grip. It’s not particularly successful. “You’re – so easy to be with, Phil. I’m – I don’t feel that way a lot.”

“I don’t understand you, though.”

“Yeah. Um. I don’t either, I don’t think.”

“You – what?”

“I don’t think I understand me,” Dan says. “I mean I’m just – you know. Doing stuff. Yelling and stuff. Like a bouncy ball that’s shit.”

Phil’s silent for a second, like he’s considering that. “Like one of the knobbly ones?”

“Yeah, like for tricking a dog. Or a very stupid child.”

Dan thinks he feels him smile, a bit. Phil pulls away. When he looks up, he just looks quizzical, mostly.

“I think I feel like a very stupid child a lot of the time,” he says, quiet. 

“Yeah,” Dan says. Phil gives him a sheepish look, like Dan’s agreeing that he’s stupid, which is – mental. “Not _you._ You’re a genius, actually. I feel like that, is what I meant. You’re just – you just have a different way of seeing things, but you see them, you’re not like – you’re not oblivious. Or whatever.”

“You are sort of oblivious,” Phil agrees. 

His eyes widen like he didn’t expect to say it. Dan howls, shoving at his shoulder and then wiggling his fingers in the direction of Phil’s ribs, cackling when Phil yelps and tries to grab his hand, smushing half of his fingers together before Dan wiggles them free.

“You come into my house,” Dan huffs. “You insult me, you curse my cows.”

“That’s not how the movie goes.”

“What movie?”

Phil makes a little irritated noise. Dan’s somehow ended up on his back on the couch, squashed into the crease between the cushions. Phil’s barely hanging on to the edge; it’s not at all designed for the two of them to lay side-by-side. 

Phil shifts, wiggling his elbows closer until he can loom over Dan’s face, almost touching his nose to Dan’s.

“What do you mean what movie?” he demands.

“Is that from a movie?”

“You’re a spoon,” Phil tells him, solemn. He’s still hovering over Dan, eyebrows pulled together like he thinks Dan is catastrophically stupid.

He watches Phil’s eyes trail down, watches the way his face softens into curiosity. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” Dan whispers, when Phil doesn’t make a move. It’s not like he doesn’t want that. Maybe that’s stupid.

Phil’s eyes widen, instead. He rolls away and completely misjudges the width of the cushions, rolling clean off and landing on the floor with a thud. He giggles, soft and surprised.

Dan rolls onto his stomach, scooting to the edge to peer down at him. 

“Are you concussed?”

“Probably,” Phil says, quiet into the space between them.

“The fact that you really didn’t want to _that_ badly kind of –”

“Why won’t you just fuck me?” Phil says. 

“What?”

Phil cringes, chewing his lip between his teeth. Whatever ease he had a minute ago is gone again.

“You said you couldn’t date me. But that’s – I mean, that’s fine. I don’t need that.”

“Is that what you want?”

Phil shrugs, shifting awkwardly where he’s still lying down. “I want something,” he says.

“I don’t really – like. I don’t want to just do that.”

“Okay,” Phil says. Dan thinks he’s holding something back, but he can’t quite tell what.

“I don’t want to be horrible,” Phil starts, eventually. The rest comes out in a rush. “But Alex said you slept with Callum, and – um. I don’t get it. I don’t – it’s just that you tell me I’m good, and then, like, you won’t date me and you won’t do anything with me and it just seems like – like I’m not that good, actually. It’s fine if you don’t want to, but you – like, it’s fine if you just think I’m horrid? I just – it’s just usually easier if you just tell me, so I know what’s going on.”

It’s like Dan’s insides are in a kaleidoscope. He can’t really see any one bit clearly, just a tumbling mess of possible options all jumbled on top of each other. He scoots away from the edge of the couch, pressing his face into the pillow. It smells like Phil. It’s sort of annoying.

“You are lovely,” he says, muffled. 

“Okay,” Phil says. “That’s sort of like what a grandma says about doilies, though.”

“Not like that.”

“No?”

“Arms,” Dan says, nonsensical. “Uh. Face, which I’ve said but you don’t listen. Eyes.”

“Eyes are part of the face, Dan,” Phil says, patient. Dan thinks he sounds a bit pleased.

“Don’t lecture me. Your hands are nice. You’re funny. You’re way better at talking than Callum. You’re kind of a freak.”

“Oh?”

Dan grabs the pillow from under his head and chucks it at Phil, getting a satisfying little _thwomp_ sound for his trouble. He flops back down on the bare couch.

“I still don’t get it,” Phil says, soft again. Dan’s thrown off kilter by how fast he can go from smug to unsure. 

“I can’t just say I don’t want to, right?”

Phil falls silent for a minute. Dan kind of wants to scoot over and peer down at his face again, but – he’s really enjoying this pillow-muffled version of the universe. He decides against it.

“You can,” he says. “I’m just going to have crippling anxiety for the rest of eternity if you do. Um, and I’ll feel terrible if I make you explain, actually. I don’t know.”

Dan nods, even though he doesn’t think Phil can see him at this angle. He tips his face to the side, rolling until he’s not going to be muffled into the pillow.

“I told Alex I was going to stop sleeping with their friends all the time,” he says. 

“Okay.”

“It’s just – I shouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Phil says. It comes out vague, like he doesn’t really understand what Dan’s saying.

“I’m trying to be less impulsive and stupid,” Dan blurts. “Like – I’m like that a lot of the time, and, um, it doesn’t really… I don’t think it’s been good. For me, but also kind of for everyone else.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” Dan mumbles. He doesn’t know what he’s sorry for. He doesn’t think he is that sorry, actually. Being less stupid seems like a pretty good life goal to have.

“Do you want something long term, then?” Phil asks.

“I guess so,” Dan says. He doesn’t really think it through.

“But not with me.”

Dan’s thoughts stutter to a stop. _Idiot,_ his brain offers, all big red letters. He scrambles.

“It’s not like that,” he says. His voice comes out weird, choked-off and squeaky. “It’s not – I just can’t do that. I can’t. I can’t, Phil.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah,” Phil says, sitting up. 

Dan catches his eyes. He feels uncertain and also – still pretty worried about that concussion, if he’s honest. He doesn’t think Phil would handle a trip to A&E very well. He doesn’t know why. Phil just doesn’t seem like the doctor type.

Phil’s quiet for a second, just staring at him with that worried look that Dan can’t parse the intent behind.

“Can I feed a lemur to a tiger, please? It’s my turn on the animal war game,” Phil says, eventually. He doesn’t smile until Dan laughs, pushing the controller into his hands.

“Madman,” Dan whispers, just to see if Phil will mess with his hair or poke him in the forehead or something.

\--

“There’s cheese and bread, so that’s – uh. You don’t like cheese, huh.”

Phil makes a little humming noise that Dan thinks is in the affirmative.

“Then there’s either bread, or bread.”

Phil scoots closer, leaning over Dan’s stooped shoulder to peer in with him. “Is that two breads? Could we do one of each?”

“There’s my bread, which is good. Or if you’d like to be adventurous, you can have Alex’s bread, which is shite.”

“You’re so good at pretending to like things, Dan.” 

“I sell you ice cream every day,” Dan says, very serious. It’s not that he doesn’t like it, but the hazelnut flavor is sort of shit. He’s not going to tell Phil that, obviously. He laughs when Phil pokes him in the ribs. 

“I think I might just go home,” Phil says, softer. “If that’s alright.”

“Of course. D’you want me to walk with you?”

Phil shrugs, giving him a sleepy smile. He never really napped, Dan’s realizing now. He doesn’t know how he forgot to enforce the one rule he’d set.

“I’ll come with you,” Dan decides.

It’s not far, Dan realizes as they walk. Phil’s got his head tipped back, staring at the grey sky for so long that Dan has to grab his wrist to tug him away from a lamppost he doesn’t notice.

“What,” Phil says, vague.

“Did we pass your road back there?”

Phil glances around, eyes going wide for a second like he really wasn’t thinking about it at all until now. Dan laughs. Phil tries to elbow him in the ribs, but he misjudges the distance and mainly just bodyslams him, which only makes Dan laugh more.

“You’re loud,” Phil hisses, bumping against him again for good measure.

“You’re a demon,” Dan informs him.

“We can just go down that road,” Phil says, motioning towards the next street. He doesn’t sound particularly sure. At best they’ll probably go in a big stupid circle, but – Dan rolls his eyes and follows, anyways. It’s not like he has anywhere to be.


	11. Chapter 11

“He’s just down on Mack’s?”

“Yeah. I mean, you should have seen the way we walked there, it was so fucked – he goes all the way to the shop, and then takes a left for some reason – but he’s south of the Aldi’s, so it doesn’t make any sense? And he insists that’s the shortest way, but sometimes he forgets to turn, so he goes the way we went, which is like, out past the shop and then you take a right and another right to get back to basically where you’ve started. It’s like he’s living in the 1800s and hasn’t got a GPS. Or a map. Or a brain, actually.”

Alex laughs. Dan’s giddy with it, like he always is. 

“So he lives, what, ten minutes away to a normal person?”

“Right,” Dan says. He shakes his head in confusion, rubbing at his eye for a moment. “But an hour to Phil.”

“Did you go in?”

Dan hesitates. Not for any good reason, he doesn’t think. It’s not like it’s weird to go into a mate’s house, and especially not in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday with his brother standing right there, only Alex doesn’t even know that part, and anyways it’s not like Phil doesn’t sleep over all the –

“Danny,” Alex singsongs. Normally it’s enough to rile him, but Alex is smiling, all fond like Dan’s an idiot dog chasing its tail.

“For a bit,” he says, sheepish. “I met his brother’s girlfriend – she’s that tiny girl with the red hair, from that place in Dalston? The one who sings?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She’s cool, anyways. Way cooler than Phil.”

“You met his brother, too?”

Dan pauses, thinking through that one. Martyn had been – sort of an enigma, really. He’d always pictured someone much more brash, who could push Phil’s buttons and truly not get his sweet shyness. Instead, Martyn had been quiet and easygoing, for the most part, even when Phil had gone odd for a minute. He’d talked about the games that Dan spotted on a shelf like he was a proper dweeb. Dan supposes he’s more relaxed than Phil is, but they don’t seem all that different. 

“He seems like he’s meant to live in a Swedish horror movie,” Dan blurts. “And like he’d kind of win, y’know?”

Alex grins, eyebrows pulling together quizzically like they don’t quite follow what Dan’s saying. Dan doesn’t really mind that, as long as Alex doesn’t. 

“You told Phil about Callum?” Dan says, instead of following that conversation any further. He might as well, since he’s here blurting out bullshit anyways. He gets – lulled into a sense of security, sometimes. Alex is his best mate, and sort of the only person he actually talks to. Especially now, what with – the whole thing. All of that.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Dan says, slowly.

“Was that a secret?” Alex asks. They sound genuinely curious. Dan abruptly realizes that maybe this isn’t a path he wants to go down.

“I suppose it isn’t anymore, if you’ve told him,” he says, anyways.

Alex hesitates. Their eyes flicker over Dan’s face like they’re searching for something.

“He asked if you were asexual or summat,” they say, eventually, drifting into a bad impression of Phil’s accent. He doesn’t even sound like that.

“Well, cheers, you could’ve said yes.”

They roll their eyes, pulling a face like he’s an idiot. Like Dan needs a reminder. “Jamie had already said something. That’s why he asked.”

“Tell me you’re fucking with me right now.”

“No. And anyways you told Charlie and me and Jade, and if Short James and Callum all know, then – I mean, that’s never been much of a secret.”

Dan huffs. It’s not like he’d really meant for it to be a secret in the first place. It hadn’t mattered to him when he’d first told Alex, or when he’d said something to Jade, or when Jamie had asked. It had only become a _thing_ when Alex started to get snotty about it, which as Dan remembers was mostly about Callum appearing in the house one morning and stealing their last slice of bread for toast.

He can’t be entirely irritated with any of them for talking to Phil, but – he’s irrational and frustrated. He’s just trying to protect Phil. He’s just trying to protect himself, a little bit. It shouldn’t be that hard for them to understand.

“I just don’t see why you had to tell him.”

“Were you going to?”

“No. I mean – no.”

“So he would’ve found out from Jamie anyways,” Alex says, slowly.

“Not if you’d all just let me tell him when I want to, like – like a normal person. I could’ve – told him someday.”

“Danny.”

It’s needling, like Dan’s just being some impossible sort of idiot. Like Alex is a million steps ahead of him. He tries to think through it, but for a minute – he just feels so fucking young. The year between them, and the half of a uni degree, and the whole future that Alex can envision and Dan can’t – it feels like a chasm, suddenly. 

“Fucking what, Lex?” he presses, before he can stop. “Why are you all acting like I can’t handle this?” 

It’s too much. Alex shrugs, turning away a bit and falling quiet.

“Sorry for not letting you be destructive whenever you want, mate, I know that’s so hard for you,” Alex mutters after a second, snappy. It’s quiet, like they’re just venting and Dan’s not meant to hear, but – his jaw clenches, anyways. He swallows hard. He knows he deserves it, but he hates fighting with them more than anything. It feels like standing on a beach and feeling the sand get sucked away around his feet. Like whatever he thought was stable isn’t anymore.

“You’re a dick,” he manages, trying to keep his voice even. 

Alex doesn’t react. They look back at him with that carefully calm look that just – makes it clear that Dan’s the only one who’s roiling all the time, stomping around blind and getting upset when the path he’s wandered down isn’t exactly what he wants.

“Okay. Thanks,” Dan mumbles, nonsensical and pathetic on top of it. He goes to his room like a teenager. If he gives his pillow a few good whacks, no one really has to know.

\--

_hey are we okay,_ he sends on impulse. 

Phil’s typing bubble pops up after a minute.

_yeah?  
why?_

_thx  
just checking_

\--

He wakes up to Alex thumping around his room. He thinks he hears the slap of his shoes hitting the wood floorboards by his bed. A belt lands on top of his blanket, and then a shirt, trousers, socks. His alarm is still blaring. He cringes away from it, pulling a pillow over his head to stave off the headache that’s condensing out of the cotton.

There’s a pause in the noise.

“Seriously,” he hears. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t want to parse the tone of it. He doesn’t want to know.

His alarm turns off. There’s footsteps, and then a weight on his bed, a hand on the back of his shoulder.

“Danny,” Alex says, softer, like they think he didn’t hear the part before that.

“No,” he mumbles.

“Okay. Alright.”

Everything goes grey, after that. He knows distantly what’s happening. He knows he’s in the process of fucking up, even if he doesn’t feel like he’s doing anything. He knows he’s making decisions that aren’t going to end well. _Good job huh,_ his brain offers, like he doesn’t get it. He squashes the pillow tighter over his head.

\--

“Dan?” a voice says. 

He blinks awake. There’s spots dancing in front of his eyes, neon and white and sparkling. He tries tipping his head towards the noise and his brain swims, going static for a minute until he gives up and stills again.

“Alex went to work,” Phil says. His fingers card clumsily through the little puff of curls over Dan’s forehead, wrist bent strangely to make up for the odd angle. “They’ve got your shift. D’you want anything?”

He thinks – he thinks he does. He can’t remember now. 

“Stay,” he says instead. 

\--

“Alex said you’d want these,” Phil says. 

Dan’s still looking at the world through a disco ball for some reason, but he can make out Phil holding something in his hand, little glints of metal carefully cupped in his palm.

“Yeah,” he says. He reaches up to rub at his ear, absently pinching the lobe between his fingers. 

“That one first?” Phil asks. He sits next to Dan’s chest, weighing the side of the bed down. Dan has to resist rolling into him, even though – it would be so easy, he thinks. He nods, instead.

Phil takes fucking forever-and-a-half to get one earring open. Dan doesn’t see where he puts the other one, and he doesn’t want to ask, but – maybe it’s gone, now. He thinks he should help Phil, but his fingers feel stiff, like they can barely keep purchase on the blanket that he’s gripping to tether himself down. He doesn’t think he’d do any better with something that fiddly. 

“Okay. Um, sorry,” Phil says, quiet. 

He reaches out, finally. Dan can tell he has no idea what he’s doing, but there’s gentle fingers slipping the little hoop through his piercing. Phil stares at it quizzically for a minute, until he apparently realizes that he can roll it all the way through to close it.

“Other one?” he asks. Dan obediently tips his head the other way. Phil’s a notch quicker, this time, although – he’s still so slow that Dan honestly doesn’t know if he’s forgotten how to do it again, or if he’s just that clumsy. 

“Do they close up?” Phil asks, curious. Dan thinks he’s got the second one in. Phil’s still fussing with it, for some reason, careful fingers wandering over his ear and the side of his head until they finally find their way into Dan’s curls again, tangling slowly like they need somewhere to live.

“Sometimes,” Dan says, hoarse. “If I leave them.”

“Oh,” Phil says, like it’s a proper revelation to him. Dan might tease him, some other day. He files it for later.

\--

“Alex said you’d want this,” Phil says, the next time Dan blinks. 

“Fuck Alex,” Dan croaks before he can think. He reaches for the cup of Ribena anyways, shoving at the pillows until he’s sitting upright. 

He misjudges it, somehow. His vision goes weird again for a minute, and he thunks headfirst into Phil’s shoulder.

“Oh.”

“Um?” Phil replies, nonsensical.

Dan can’t straighten his shit out fast enough to know what to say to that. 

“Fuck,” he says, trying to blink the stars out of his eyes. Fucking eloquent. It’s all he can think of, anyways. Phil tries to shift, but his shoulder bumps under Dan’s head and jars something loose. The sparkling only gets worse. Dan cringes, slamming his eyes shut and trying to press his forehead into Phil’s skin, like there’s some kind of reset button in there that he can activate if he whacks it with enough determination.

“There’s a straw,” Phil says. Something that sure does seem pretty straw-like bumps into Dan’s lower lip. It skitters away until he bites at it, chomping it between his teeth like he used to mash juice packet straws as a little kid. Phil giggles in surprise.

“Crocodile,” Phil chides.

Dan’s still busy taking long pulls from the cup. He wants to jab at Phil’s side, but – you probably shouldn’t bite the hand that holds the Ribena. Something like that.

“Turtle killer,” Dan mumbles back when he’s done, spitting the straw out again and batting it away with his chin. It’s been a while, but he remembers this taking ages to clear out. Maybe leaning on someone who’s always wiggling isn’t a fantastic idea, but he’s kind of given up.

“Can I stay here?” he asks, hoarse.

“Yeah,” Phil says, softly. He shifts again, leaning away to put the glass back on Dan’s nightstand. He cups the back of Dan’s head when he comes back, clumsily guiding him back into place.

“Fuck,” Dan groans. He feels like shit.

“Have you ever thought about drinking water more than once a week?” Phil says. “Maybe we wouldn’t have to water you with cough syrup.” There’s a little laugh in his voice, but also – a weird amount of curiosity, like he genuinely wants to know more than he wants to make fun of Dan.

“No,” Dan says. “Thanks though.”

“Oh, okay,” Phil says, all cheerful.

They fall into silence. Phil doesn’t seem particularly bothered that Dan’s just taken up residence in his space. He’s – grateful, he thinks, vague. Phil’s t-shirt is soft against his face, and the warmth coming off him is comforting. It’s the only thing he can really feel. Everything’s full of static, still, except for where they’re touching. He reaches out, catching the edge of Phil’s shirt between his fingers, just for something to hold onto. Phil makes a little noise of surprise.

“Okay?” he says.

“Think so.”

“Okay. Um, I have some bad news.”

“Great,” Dan mumbles. He expects Phil to say that he has to leave. It’s not that he can really begrudge him having his own house, or whatever. His own life that doesn’t involve Dan, because why would it. He’ll be fine if Phil has to go. He can just sit in silence and survive. It’s not a big deal. He’s a pretty good monk, actually.

“I kind of said I would facetime my mum,” Phil says, instead. Dan stumbles over that, for a minute. It’s not – it just isn’t what he was expecting.

“Oh.”

“Is that okay? It doesn’t have to be right now, I just – I forgot to text her, and she gets a bit weird.”

“‘S fine,” Dan says. He pulls back, finally, blinking his creaky eyelids open. 

Phil’s big eyes are staring back, worried. It’s the first thing he sees. He feels – clearer, now, but fucking exhausted, like he’s run a marathon and didn’t just lay in bed and halfheartedly drink Ribena while someone else did all the work.

“I can go to the couch,” Phil says. He leans to pull his laptop into his hands. It was already out, apparently, sitting on Dan’s bed this whole time. Dan can’t quite figure out how long Phil’s been here. He’s not even totally clear on _why_ Phil’s here, either can’t quite sort out why he would give up most of a day just to sit with a sleeping lump.

It’s disorienting, to know that he’s just – missing things.

He swallows. He doesn’t know how to ask what Phil wants out of this situation, but – it’s probably good if Dan doesn’t have a strop over nothing, doesn’t ask too many questions and press at things when he doesn’t really want the answers. He can do that much, he thinks.

“It’s fine,” Dan says again. “You should call her.” 

He scoots back on his own power, props himself against the wall. Phil smiles for a moment and goes to mess with his laptop. Dan zones out, debating whether the crack in his wall looks like a snake enough to make it worth mentioning.

“Hi, mum?” he hears. 

Phil sounds properly pleased to be talking to her, even though he literally just left the north a few days ago.

“Hi, child!” she says. Phil makes a face at the nickname, casting an anxious glance in Dan’s direction. He tries to look reassuring in return. He supposes it’s a bit odd to talk to your mum while sitting in your mate’s bed.

“ – didn’t have a reason to call,” she’s saying. “Just wanted to make sure you’d make it home alright, but I see you’re not at the flat anyways.”

“No, I’m still at Daniel’s,” Phil says, like she would know who he’s talking about. 

“Oh, let me see him!”

Phil glances up again, giving him a questioning look. Dan shrugs. Phil reaches towards his laptop, tugging it until it’s angled towards Dan.

“Hi, Mrs. Lester,” he says. He tries to sound like a real person.

“Hi, dear. Phil’s told me that your ice cream is so good that he had to leave me to go down there and eat some. Does that sound right?”

He smiles. He’s good at putting on a face for mums, he’s remembering. “It’s pretty good, ma’am.”

Phil bumps the back of his hand into Dan’s leg. He’s grinning, lower lip caught between his teeth when Dan catches his eye.

“Well, alright,” she says. “As long as he’s behaving for once. He did tell me that eating ice cream was his whole plan for adulthood.”

_“Mum,”_ Phil squawks. “I was seven, you don’t have to make it sound like that was yesterday.”

She gives Dan a skeptical look like she’s not convinced that her son has a better plan. Dan – doesn’t think he’s ever heard Phil express any strong attachment to anything other than the ice cream, actually. She might be right. 

“Alright, both of you shut up,” Phil says, pulling the laptop back. “Did you want to hear about Martyn’s kitchen fire or not?”

“I didn’t want to know about anything your brother’s done, no, thank you,” she says, cheerful. “I wanted to laugh at my favorite son some more. This is really raising my spirits, Phil.”

Dan snorts. Phil flicks him on the knee. Dan smacks at his hand, and Phil smacks back until she cuts in with a stern _boys_ that has his hands primly folded in his lap in a matter of moments. 

“How’s dad?”

“Oh, he’s still alive. Did you know I found your baby pictures again?”

Phil huffs. “Enough, please, you’re horrible,” he whines. 

Dan tips his head back against the wall, letting his eyes slip closed. He thinks he hears Phil pause and say something about how he’s ill. His voice is softer, then, and his mum doesn’t have the same loud laugh any more. A hand lands on his bare knee, after a minute, and just stays there while they chatter. She’s funny. She’s like a proper mum, he thinks. She jokes about Phil’s dad with a lot of love in her voice, and asks Phil how he _really_ is, like she wants a proper answer. Phil sounds – genuine, too. Like this is him at his most relaxed, in Dan’s bed with a hand on a boy’s knee, giggling over something silly that his mum’s said about his brother.

Dan doesn’t want to think about it any longer. It’s nice. He doesn’t want to roll it around until it’s anything other than nice.

“ – love you,” Phil’s saying. Dan’s missed the whole goodbyes portion of the conversation.

“Bye, Mrs. Lester,” he manages to mumble. He doesn’t think she hears him, between Phil talking at the same time and his own squeaky little voice.

“Dan,” Phil says, quiet. Dan cracks his eyes open. There’s a hand on his shoulder, tugging at him. Phil feels – sure of himself, somehow, in a way he usually isn’t. Dan’s unsteady, out of control and too exhausted to resist whatever it is that his determined hands are doing. He goes with it, even though he’s shaken by how easily he gives in.

Phil lays back, is all. He guides until Dan’s tucked in against his side. His arm lands steady around Dan’s shoulders, holding him in place without quite trapping him.

“Did something happen with Alex?” Phil asks. 

“Nothing has to happen,” Dan murmurs, rote. His voice wobbles stupidly. He curls a hand into the edge of his blanket and tugs it over them, keeping it clutched in his hand to try to still the shaking. 

“That’s true,” Phil says, mild. “You just said something, earlier.”

Dan – wants to shatter. He wants to scream and jump and cry until he can just fucking sleep. 

He doesn’t want to tell Phil how scared he is, now or all the time. He doesn’t want to tell him that the only fucking problem is that Alex told him something that was true, and he just doesn’t want Phil to know because it leaves him one step closer to knowing Dan. He doesn’t want to say that he can’t deal with one more person staring at the soft parts of him.

“I’m not trustworthy,” he blurts. “Alex doesn’t trust me.”

He can hear the whine creeping into his voice, like he’s a bloody child that doesn’t understand why the other kids don’t like him. It hurts to hear it. He’d really thought he was past all that.

“You are,” Phil says. Like it’s easy. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not reliable,” Dan says. He doesn’t know any other way to put it. “I’m not – I’m never – whenever they need me I’m just ill or I’m stupid or –”

“I think you are.”

“Stupid?”

Phil huffs. “Trustworthy, Dan.”

“No.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“No, I just – I just think – I don’t know. Why would it be different for you? Alex knows me better than anyone, Phil.”

Phil goes quiet, for a minute. He takes one long slow breath like he’s thinking very hard. 

“I think you’re always kind,” he says, finally. 

Dan doesn’t think that’s true. He’s pretty sure it isn’t true, actually. He has at least one vague memory of snapping at Phil for no good reason except that he was in firing range, and there’s probably other times that he’s forgotten, because half the time he’s so used to being awful that he hardly notices when he’s doing it. 

“I’m not,” he says. “I was mean to you that one time, at the shop. I’m mean to my brother, and he’s literally a child. I’m a dick to Alex, and Sarah can’t trust me with anything, and I’m – just not, Phil.”

Phil’s shoulder twitches in a little shrug. 

“You always try, though.”

Phil shifts when Dan falls silent. He shoves the blanket out of the way, murmuring something about how godforsakenly warm it is. Dan’s sweating and tipping into dizziness again, but he feels a little bereft without it. He pats around for a second, just – searching. He lands on Phil’s hand and tangles his fingers in his, clutching at him until Phil squeezes back, firm and steady. 

“Is that enough?” Dan asks, softly. Trying hasn’t really gotten him that far before. He feels Phil’s chin bump against his head.

“I think it is,” Phil says, just as quiet. “I really do.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Dan?” 

“Mm?” he hums.

“You awake?”

“Not very.” 

He has a feeling he’s meant to be. There’s a slant of warmth over his shoulder, like he’s laying under sunlight, which would make it mid afternoon if he hasn’t forgotten how the sun works.

“Am I a lizard?” he asks Phil’s disembodied voice. Phil giggles.

“No. Are you drunk? I left you for five minutes.”

“Am I under a heat lamp?”

“Oh. Yes, you’re at the zoo and you’re a lizard now. Would you like to eat – uh, bugs?”

Dan sighs. There’s the smell of something in the air, like he’s smashed his face into a bakery at high speeds and jammed his whole head in the case. You know, like a person might. 

He opens his eyes. Phil’s standing in the middle of his room with sweat on his forehead, holding a McDonald’s bag. His blue eyes are big and shiny in the light, and he’s got a bit of a pout on his face.

“I panicked,” he says.

“Yeah?” Dan asks, flailing into something that sort of approximates a sitting position.

“You’ve taken your shirt off,” Phil says, instead. Dan blinks down at his bare chest and then dives for it, grabbing it from the crevasse between his bed and the wall and yanking it over his head. He thinks it might be backwards, but – nevermind. Phil’s face has gone a bit pink, when he looks up again.

“Shirt panic at McDonalds?”

“No,” Phil says. There’s a little whine creeping into his voice. “I meant to buy you a McFlurry, but the machine’s broken. So I panicked and I asked how much an apple pie costs, and they said a quid, and I said well I’ve got ten, and she said that’ll get you ten pies, so – um. I just felt bad rejecting her services?”

Dan stares at the suspiciously large bag.

“You panicked,” he repeats, slowly. “And you bought ten apples pies?”

“I was planning to hide some of them, but I realized I’d forget, and you’d find them ages later, and then we wouldn’t be mates anymore because I’d left apple pies to mold in your house like a people-squirrel.”

Dan’s barely keeping up. He scrubs a hand over his eyes and vaguely wonders if this is how people feel when he’s around. He finds himself laughing a bit anyways. It’s not the usual loud shriek, but it’s enough to break Phil’s pout.

“Should probably get started, then,” Dan says.

Phil nods. He comes over, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling out four of the pies so they can have a solemn little deliberation about which box looks the most perfect and should be selected as the King Apple Pie. 

“It’s this one,” Phil finally decrees, popping it open and handing it to Dan. 

They eat in companionable quiet for a while. 

Dan gives up too soon, like some kind of apple pie weakling. Phil looks like he’s having a ball, but he glances between the bag and Dan’s sort-of-finished second pie and seems to make a decision. He takes the bag and scurries off to stash it in the fridge, humming the Final Fantasy theme to himself like it’s a serious quest. Dan gets up and pulls on an old jumper while he’s gone.

Phil’s quiet when he comes back. He’s glancing nervously at Dan when Dan catches him, but then he’s looking at his laptop like maybe he’s got work to do. He looks at the ceiling, even. Dan thinks he sees him notice the ceiling snake. Phil doesn’t mention it.

“Dan,” Phil starts, startling him. “You know you’re lovely, right?”

He doesn’t actually know what to say to that.

“Like a doily?” he asks.

“No,” Phil says. He catches Dan’s eyes for just a moment, grinning cheekily with the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. 

Dan’s lips tug up. As much as he’s trying to avoid doing anything about it, it’s still – it’s nice to hear. It helps cut through some of the cobwebs. 

“We’re okay?” he asks, when Phil’s in the middle of popping his laptop open. 

“Yeah,” Phil says, like it’s simple.

\--

Phil’s hands are always on him. At first Dan thinks he’s trying to comfort him, or he’s flirting and too touchy for his own good, but then – they watch a horror movie that Alex picks. Phil jolts at a jumpscare and grabs at Dan’s hand on instinct, whispering _I don’t like that guy at all_ about the alien ghost monster like it’s some sort of revelation. He squeezes it tight and tucks himself in small against Dan, hiding like he’d stuff his whole gangly body in a cupboard if he could. 

Dan’s not really one for horror movies. He’s scared of the dark and of alien ghost monsters and of trees and of birds and of axes and of basically every bug even if they don’t do anything to him; he’s not exactly a fount of bravery. The thought that Phil thinks he’s worth hiding behind makes him want to laugh, if he thinks about it too much.

He’s so used to sitting alone until he well and truly can’t, creeping into Alex’s territory like he’s asking a question. 

Before Alex, he only really knew how to act like a rock, or something similarly dumb, just sitting there in the dirt, waiting to see if anyone would take an interest in him. He doesn’t want to think about what he was like before that, even, the horrible grating little monster that he was, before he learned that being loud wouldn’t get him anywhere good.

The reality of Phil – of Phil needing a gentle hand sometimes, and wanting that from Dan, trusting that he’ll get it, and the stubborn way he burrows his way into Dan’s space until he gets a response – it’s a little bit bewildering. 

More than a little bit, really. 

He thinks it’s just that Phil doesn’t have a lot of options, but it’s like he’s whacking his way through Dan’s brain sometimes, excavating areas he’s been refusing to look at. He doesn’t know how to deal with it.

He drapes an arm around Phil’s shoulders, all fake-casual. Phil wiggles. He makes a soft little pleased noise like he’s not entirely human, just a guinea pig or something trying to find the right spot for a nap. His fingers clench around Dan’s when there’s another jumpscare, and he giggles when Dan turns his face away and bumps his nose into Phil’s cheek, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I hate that guy,” Dan whispers.

“He’d make a shit pilot,” Phil says, which he seems to think is an agreement. He waits a beat before he whispers that the monster’s gone now, poking at Dan’s cheek with his free hand until he turns back to the screen. 

He turns to Alex, instead. They’re staring back at him with open curiosity, like they’re watching monkeys at the zoo. 

He can’t deal with it. He’s fucking grateful that Phil hasn’t left, even though he’s said a million times that he wouldn’t really mind. 

He would mind, he thinks. He doesn’t know if that’s fair.

\--

“Are you gonna stay here?”

Phil hums. He’s making an impressive attempt at sprawling out in Dan’s tiny bed. Dan thinks he’s meant to be annoyed that he’s shoved up against the wall to avoid Phil’s wiggling, but – it’s just cute, mostly.

“I’m already here,” Phil mumbles, smushed into the pillow he’d finally bought himself. “Not leaving.”

“In London, I mean.”

Phil shrugs. The pillow makes a little _whump_ sound when it moves under him.

“You came back for meetings, right?”

“Mm. No.”

Dan falls silent, confused. He doesn’t know if it’s – if Phil thinks something’s going to happen here, when he’s already said that it won’t. He doesn’t know if he’s holding out hope, still. Maybe it _was_ just that the work is better, though, and maybe he didn’t have any effect on the situation at all. Maybe Dan’s the one holding out hope and Phil’s already moved on. Maybe Phil’s only here until Alex says he can –

Phil taps at his arm. He’s rolled over, at some point. He doesn’t say anything when Dan looks at him, finally, but he smiles, slow and sleepy.

“With my dad,” he starts, quiet.

“He’s alright?” Dan blurts. He doesn’t think he’s meant to cut in, especially not with Phil, who’s so quiet anyways.

“It’s been good news,” Phil says. Dan can hear the uncertainty behind it, the little waver of a question in Phil’s voice, that isn’t directed at Dan so much as at some higher power. He kind of regrets asking.

“That’s good,” he says. “So you can – live here again?”

Phil hesitates. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth, taps his fingertips on the sheet for a minute. It reminds Dan of his laptop giving the spinning wheel of death for a minute, reminds him of holding his breath until he finds out what’s on the other side.

“I just think I’m responsible for everything,” Phil finally says, like he’s in the middle of a different conversation entirely. “I thought – when he got ill that it was because I was gone and it was a strain on them, but then I went home and it’s just… I don’t know.”

“It didn’t get better?”

Phil makes a little pained noise, like the frustration of not being understood is physically hurting him. Dan – kind of gets that. “I was just stuck there, washing my hands twenty times a day because of the germs, and worrying that if I made a noise it would wake him and he wouldn’t rest, and that maybe he’d just die in his sleep even though the doctors said he was well enough, and then I’d have to go check that he was breathing but it just made him more stressed because I was waking him all the time and my mum was going mental trying to deal with the both of us and it was – it wasn’t great,” he says, all in a rush.

Dan wavers. Phil doesn’t like sympathy, really. He doesn’t like it when Dan says that things aren’t as bad as they feel. 

“That doesn’t sound great,” he agrees, slow and awkward.

It feels – ridiculous, in a way, like he’s just ganging up with the thoughts in Phil’s head. He doesn’t think he would agree on that point with anyone else, but he’s starting to think that it doesn’t help if he tells Phil that things are better than they are. 

“Yeah. Um. By the end I was checking the lock on my window a million times a day because I thought a house invader would get in, you know, just because they might as well with our luck,” Phil says. “You know how much video you can get edited when you’re staring at a window lock like ghosts are gonna move it?”

The words are sort of funny, off-kilter the way he always is, but he just sounds – exasperated with himself. Like it’s a self-deprecating joke, even though the words are mapping out all the ways that he’s been terrified for months. 

He’s tipped his face towards Dan, again, with a worried look. That’s the only part that lets Dan in a bit. It’s just Phil’s eyes that give him away, sometimes. 

“That sounds stressful,” Dan says, still uncertain. 

Phil nods. His face relaxes a bit, unclenching like Dan’s done something right.

“So you’re staying?” Dan asks, when Phil’s still just silently staring at him.

“For a while, yeah. I guess so.”

\--

_WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE  
WHO NEED ICE CREAM IN THE RAIN??????_

_should i turn around or,_ Phil replies a second later. 

_is this a ha-ha  
say you’re a snek  
say it_

_… nope  
i’ll just apologize a lot, is that okay_

_i don’t think you understand the kind of hate i’m feeling,_ Dan replies. He barely dodges Ellie trying to poke him in the stomach. He’s been – a less than ideal coworker today.

_okay bye see you soon you sick fuck,_ he adds when her back’s turned. 

Phil takes ages to actually appear. Dan might be worried, but he’s seen the stupid way he gets around town now. He tells himself that Phil has most likely walked to Bristol on the way to the shop.

The door dings, for the millionth time. Dan looks up, and the usual greetings freeze up in his mouth. 

Phil’s standing there, all sopping wet, with a cup of coffee in each hand. He grins as soon as he spots Dan, even though there’s literally water streaking out of his limp hair, dripping down his forehead and into his eyes.

“You’re _mental,”_ Dan blurts. The customer he’s scooping for gives him a tentative smile, until they turn and realize who he’s talking to.

“Get in the office,” Ellie adds, all stern. Phil turns towards her, looking a bit sheepish, like he didn’t really expect to be caught. He goes to the end of the counter like he knows where he’s headed. Dan turns back to work, shaking his head.

Elle taps his shoulder once they hit a lull. “Go deal with your date.”

“I hate you,” he says, but he hurries into the office anyway.

Phil has somehow found the blanket that Alex had buried for Dan’s upright napping purposes back in the winter. He’s swaddled himself in it, pulling it tight around his shoulders and up over his head until he looks a bit like a massive, horrible, six-foot-tall version of E.T.. His glasses are fogged up and shoved haphazardly up on his forehead. He’s got one of the cups clutched in his delicate hands, steaming directly into his face.

“You’re a lunatic,” Dan tells him. He grabs for his cup.

“A thank you would be nice,” Phil says primly.

“Thank you,” Dan mutters, somehow chided by this – fucking clown of a man, like he’s any kind of example of normal human behavior. “I love coffee.”

“Thought you’d said something like that. How’s the storm?”

Dan rolls his eyes and kicks at the other chair until he manages to knock it away from Sarah’s desk.

“You tell me, Phil. Why are you all so goddamn desperate to eat ice cream in it?” 

“I just wanted to see you,” Phil says, like – like that’s just a thing that people say. Dan frowns at him, nose wrinkling. He takes a sip of his coffee.

“Liar,” he says darkly. “You just want me for my ice cream like everyone else.”

Phil smiles. He looks comically pleased with himself, considering he’s sopping wet, bundled in an old mothball blanket in a tiny office, and Dan doesn’t think he can actually see the cup he’s holding in his own hands. He doesn’t push it, anyway.

\--

“Your boyfriend seems nice,” Ellie says smugly, once Dan’s folded the blanket and convinced Phil to take his rain jacket before he leaves.

“He’s not.”

“Nice?”

“My boyfriend, you big dummy,” he says, flicking her on the temple for good measure.


	13. Chapter 13

“Alright there, sex monk?”

“Wh–?”

“Wake up please. Walk into the light, Daniel.”

Dan groans. He’s overheating, squashed against Phil under both a blanket and the morning sun. And – well. For other reasons, maybe.

It’s not exactly the first time. He just doesn’t usually wake up snuggled up to Phil like this. He definitely didn’t in the height of the summer, when they had to roll away and perch on opposite edges of his narrow bed just to fall asleep in the first place, and when they’d wake each other up kicking and shoving until they’d maneuvered back to their correct territories. 

It’s getting cool out again, though. Maybe it’s – something to worry about.

“Not really a monk. I can jerk off,” he mumbles, morose, scooting away and rolling onto his front. He should probably go take a shower and turn off his alarm. He’s just pretty busy sleeping, is all.

“Can monks not jerk off?” Phil asks, curious.

Dan whines and scoots away even further, more-or-less falling off the mattress. He might as well get up if he’s going to be dealing with Phil’s insane preschool questions.

“That’s the whole point. You can’t think about other people,” he says. “Or feel things.”

“What if you don’t think about other people?”

“Phil,” Dan whines, stumbling around on his hunt for a pair of trousers.

“You could think about chess, in a sexual way,” Phil tells him solemnly, like it’s all very serious. Dan kind of hates him. He snatches one of Phil’s socks off the floor and chucks it at his head, snickering when Phil yelps like it’s a proper attack.

“Gonna go think about some chess then,” he mutters. “Bye forever.”

\--

“Have you ever dated anyone?”

Dan’s looking studiously down at his cup of the cherry cheesecake, not at – the things Phil is doing to his cone, which don’t matter at all to him and generally aren’t his business.

“Uh. Yeah, my ex.”

“What’s he like?” 

Phil says it so mildly, like – like it’s simple. Like it’s just occurred to him. Like it’s just something boring to talk about over ice cream at the park, when Dan’s tired and muddled and barely hanging on to the universe anyway.

“Liv’s good,” he says. He pokes at his scoop while Phil falls silent.

“Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you like her?” Phil asks, curious as ever. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Phil says, slowly. “Like that, though?”

Dan frowns, turning to look at him. Phil’s wide-eyed, all innocent and open looking with his big blue eyes. He doesn’t look like someone who’s trying to get something from Dan.

“Not like that,” he says. Phil gives him a sheepish look, like he’s uncovered something he didn’t really mean to. 

“How’d you tell her?”

“That I didn’t like her?”

“Yeah.”

Dan wrinkles his nose, rolling his eyes. Maybe in a different universe he would have said something, but he wasn’t going to say that to anyone at seventeen or eighteen, and much less to someone he loved, who’d spent most of her college years trying to keep him afloat. “I didn’t, Phil.”

Phil’s quiet again. He looks a bit nervous, like he didn’t expect Dan’s reaction. 

“I couldn’t,” Dan says. “Have you dated anyone? You must’ve had some cool boyfriend at York, right?”

“Nope,” he says. He crumples the wrapper from his cone between his fingers. Dan smiles.

“Too busy being a ho, huh?”

Phil only looks more nervous. He kind of smiles, but it’s like his mouth just twists funny, like he’s forgotten how to do that.

“I guess, yeah.”

Dan pops another spoonful in his mouth, considering. He narrows his eyes a bit. “You don’t sound as pleased as I would expect, mate.”

“I was on OkCupid for four years and the only person who actually took me on a date was thirty-five and he wasn’t even hot, I was just bored, and then he took me back to my campus house and he wouldn’t even kiss me, and then he told me I’d better do well on my English paper so I could get into a nice grad school,” Phil blurts, all at once, whine creeping into his voice. “Like a _dad,_ Dan, and not even in a fun way.”

Dan laughs, too loud. Phil’s cheeks are pink, but he’s got his face all crumpled up, like a child telling the story of how they weren’t allowed to have ice cream. He’s properly sulking, which just makes Dan laugh even more.

“Stop laughing, you monster,” Phil protests. 

“That’s so beautiful,” Dan says. 

Phil makes a move like he’s going to wring Dan’s neck, baring his teeth and only backing off when Dan shrieks and swats at his hands.

“You can’t date anybody if you’re a park murderer,” Dan tells him. He’s got his head pulled back so he’s got about ten chins, but at least he’s protected from Phil’s violence for a minute.

“Whatever,” Phil mutters, sulky.

“You should try it in London.”

“I have.”

“For how long?”

“Five minutes, and then my self esteem crumbled and I went to buy more ice cream,” Phil says, quiet like he doesn’t actually want Dan to hear. Dan tries to give him a condescending look, but Phil just rolls his eyes. Dan can’t quite get a handle on the smile that’s still tugging at his lips.

“You could try again.”

Phil shakes his head, emphatic.

“You could try Grindr, and then, you know, parlay being so good in bed into a long term thing.”

Phil keeps shaking his head.

“You could sleep with Charlie,” Dan tries. He doesn’t know Charlie that well, but they seem to have the same stupid taste in t-shirts, which is a pretty good sign for how a relationship would go.

Phil pauses, considering. He narrows his eyes at Dan like he’s not sure if Dan can just offer that, but he thinks there’s a chance. “Really?”

“I don’t know. Probably. You two could share your shitty clothes and have a long beautiful life together.”

Phil immediately reverts back to sulking. 

“You’ll find someone,” Dan says, gentler. Phil seems pretty put out by the whole situation. Dan had always sort of assumed it was just about the way he was being vague and confusing, but it seems like it’s – a whole thing, really.

“I hate finding people,” Phil whines. “I hate the whole – going to meet some random bloke and trying to act like a person. I just want to act like me and they’ll like it and we can live in a house and buy a dog a week later just to get it all over with, and I’ll never have to think about dating again.”

Dan has a vague memory of hating that part too, before he sort of gave up on the whole _new people_ thing and landed on the idea of sleeping with Jade ten times in a row for no good reason. 

“Adopt a dog, you mean,” he says, since he’s not terribly interested in discussing that whole adventure with Phil.

Phil scowls at him. “No. I want one of those ones that someone’s bred until it’s so cute it makes me want to puke.”

Dan frowns back. He should argue, but Phil’s logic is so shite in the first place that it seems a little bit impossible to reason with him. He sticks his spoon out, instead, and bops it on Phil’s nose, leaving a sticky dot of barely-frozen cream on the tip. Phil inexplicably tries to lick it directly off, sticking his tongue out as far as it’ll go and crossing his eyes in concentration. He beams, suddenly, when he catches Dan’s look of horror.

“You’re a monster,” Dan tells him. “This is why no one wants you in their house.”

\--

“I don’t understand why you don’t have a boyfriend when you’re so shit at everything and so angry all the time,” Phil says, flashing Dan a big innocent smile.

Alex’s head pops up from behind their phone, bewildered. 

“I actually don’t give a fuck about Pottery Simulator,” Dan grits out. 

He kind of does. Mostly he just hates that Phil’s happily making hot pink mushrooms and whacking them in the gallery for three virtual people to look at, while Dan’s knocked over and blown up two masterpieces in a row.

“You’re such a good sport, Danny,” Alex pipes up from their corner.

“Great. Thanks. Both of you are dead to me.”

\--

“Not to be weird,” Alex starts. Dan turns to frown at them. He catches Phil doing the same out of the corner of his eye. “But are you ever going home again, Phil?”

Dan doesn’t even know if he can really see Phil, per se. He just feels him shrink, somehow, uncertain and quiet somewhere in his periphery.

“Not gonna let him,” he cuts in, too-confident. Alex rolls their eyes, but they’re smiling indulgently like it’s not actually a big deal. _Just asking,_ they mouth when Phil’s apparently turned his back again. Dan shrugs.

\--

“Are you gonna go home?” Dan asks, later, when they’re curled up in bed and he’s bored of watching Phil tap around on Twitter while he half-dozes.

“I can,” Phil says, wary.

“Don’t want you to,” Dan murmurs back. “Not really. Just meant – like, if you wanted.”

“Your bed’s too big,” Phil says. He spreads his legs to illustrate his point, wiggling his toes over the edge on one side and against Dan’s shin on the other. Dan squawks and grabs at him, trying to tackle him into behaving properly. Phil goes down giggling, yelling some nonsense about being a king now.

\--

Dan’s tapping his scoop against the counter in some half-hearted rhythm. He thinks it’s a song, but he can’t really remember which, and he can’t be bothered with following that thought too far.

“Have you got a case of the Augusts?” Alex asks, pulling their apron over their head. 

Dan’s – got a history, he supposes. He’s only ever been terrified in August. He’s tended towards collapse, even before Alex really knew him. 

He just doesn’t think it’s that, this year. Everyone’s going back to school without him, but he doesn’t mind it with the furious intensity he had last year. He’s drowsy and clouded, is all. He doesn’t know why; can’t place it into a neat category like he usually can. Everything’s – sort of good, really.

He shrugs.

“Just a case of the Danny Howell’s, I guess.”

\--

“Dan,” a pineapple with Phil’s voice whispers.

“Dan,” it repeats, louder. “You spoon, come on, your mum’s calling.”

Dan whines, flopping over. 

“Alright, I’ll answer it then,” Phil says.

Dan jolts. He shoves himself into sitting, grabbing at the phone. Mum, the screen says, as fucking promised. 

“Hi?”

“Danny!” 

“What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing? Do I need a reason to call my favorite son? Are you busy?”

“No, just napping,” he mumbles, chided. _That’s your favorite?_ he hears a little voice in the background demand. 

“Napping? Daniel, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says, scrubbing at his eyes with a thumb. Phil’s rolled onto his side, propped up on his elbow, watching with the same curious look he’s always got.

“Well, that’s good,” she says, in a voice that suggests that she doesn’t quite believe him. “Can I FaceTime you? I miss you, love.”

Dan almost goes to switch it out of habit, but – he catches Phil’s eyes as he pulls the phone away from his face. He freezes. He brings the phone back up, carefully cradling it against his ear like maybe it’ll slip out of his hands.

“Mum, I’ve just woken up, I look like shite,” he says. “I’d have to get dressed.”

“Danny, I’ve seen your stupid hair plenty of times. It can’t be worse than when you were a toddler.”

“Maybe not,” he mumbles. He changes tactics. “Can I – um. I told Alex we’d go to the shop, and I think I’ve slept through my alarm, so can I call you after?”

“Can you have – your roommate go? You really sound poorly, Danny.”

“No. No, it’s – you know, the routine, and everything. Um. Like, I have to,” he tries. She seems to give into that. The official card always works, somehow. 

“Alright, well, call me after. Buy yourself some kale for that pasta, yes?”

“Yes, mum. Bye, love you,” he says. He hangs up and puts the phone back on his little table. He’s suddenly exhausted; he doesn’t know if it’s because of the call or if he always was, just pushing it below the surface for a minute.

“Kale pasta?” Phil asks. He’s got his nose all scrunched up.

“For the vitamins, I guess.”

“Oh. That sounds kind of horrible.”

“I’ll put marshmallows on it if I make it, just for you.”

“Why’d you have to go to the store?”

“Phil,” Dan says, whining softly. He can’t – get into that whole mess.

“Is it weird that I talked to my mum while you were here?” Phil asks, instead.

Phil’s changes in direction are always catching him off guard. It’s funny, mostly. Mostly. Right now he’s just – so tired, and sort of shaken, and gauzy like he’s stumbling in the dark. 

It’s like walking face first into a pole, sometimes. He feels a bit like a cartoon character that’s walked into a trap that everyone else could see. 

Phil’s looking at him with that look that Dan thinks is – badly disguised panic, probably. His brain helpfully supplies him with a flash of every time Phil’s said how awkward and anxious he is, how he just wants to _know_ all the time. Dan doesn’t think his own dazed expression is helping at all.

He pulls his knees to his chin, wrapping his arms around them defensively.

“I don’t know,” he manages to say. “I don’t know what’s normal, Phil.”

Phil’s silent for a long time. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth, staring at Dan.

“You ever thought about blinking,” Dan blurts. 

Phil gives him a tiny shake of the head, and an uncertain smile.

“Okay,” Dan mumbles, somehow feeling chided just by the fact that Phil isn’t trying to fight him, even when he’s being mean and annoying and saying shit that he shouldn’t when Phil’s already struggling.

“You haven’t told her?” Phil says, eventually. It’s Dan’s turn to shake his head, just once.

“Are you going to?” he asks, when Dan doesn’t say anything.

“When everything’s over,” Dan says, softly. He realizes as he says it that Phil doesn’t know what _everything_ is to him, that he’s only raising more questions. 

“When what’s over?”

Dan doesn’t even know the answer to that, really.

“I don’t know,” he starts. 

He’d always thought he’d say something once Liv was gone, and he could say it without connecting it to the fact that she was losing her favorite child in the deal. Then it was once he was out of the house. Once he’d started uni. Once he’d gotten through exams. Once he’d taken more exams and didn’t cry about the marks, once he had something to show for his work to make it seem like he was worth it. Once they weren’t helping him with tuition anymore. Once the paperwork was final, and the court dates were over, and she didn’t have that exhausted look every time he saw her in person, that one that feels frighteningly familiar to him. Once he’d gone home and been useful enough to prove that he was worth something to her, still. Once he’d left again.

“Nevermind,” Phil says, so quiet. 

Dan really doesn’t know what’s showing on his face, but it must be broadcasting – something clear, as usual. He hates that. He hates that he’s so loud. He hates that he hates it, when he can’t seem to do anything to change it. 

“I’d just thought when – everything was sorted, like, with my dad and uni and the shop, and – yeah. I keep thinking that,” he says, stumbling and mostly nonsensical. Phil’s giving him a look like he hasn’t understood any of the words Dan’s put in front of him. Dan can’t really blame him.

“You don’t have to tell her,” Phil says. He sounds so firm about it, like he thinks he’s protecting Dan from something.

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. He’s so tired. He’s had variations on this conversation with Alex so many times.

“You want to, though.”

Dan bows his head, fiddling with his hair. It’s always the same spirals no matter what he does, but it feels useful, somehow, to shove at it.

“I guess,” he says.

“Do you think it would go badly?”

Dan doesn’t, really. He doesn’t know. She’d laughed along with his dad’s jokes, some, but she’d lectured Dan, too, about how he couldn’t say certain things even if his mates and their parents thought it was okay. That had been once, though, and ages ago. They hadn’t talked about it again. 

He thinks she’d – try, at least. He’s pretty confident that she’d try, if he let her.

“I don’t. But it’s – I don’t want to – it’s all so weird, now. Can we just sleep?”

“Thought you wanted to go to the shop,” Phil says.

Dan glares at him for a minute, sullen. He’d thought of it so quickly because there was a kernel of truth in there. They’re almost out of bread again, and he knows he’s not meant to be napping the whole afternoon away, even if he feels like shit. 

Phil gives him a little smile, like he knows he’s being fucking annoying.

“I just can’t keep being the fucking weirdo,” he says, finally. There’s a part of him that thinks that Phil might understand that. Maybe he wants to think that. Maybe he’s the only one walking around trying not to be deficient all the time. 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “I get that.”

Dan can’t tell if he’s just appeasing him, really. He wants to think that it’s genuine. He thinks – he thinks Phil’s a pretty bad liar, anyways.

“Can we just go to the shop?” he asks, suddenly impatient and a bit riled. 

“Nope,” Phil says. He flashes Dan a big grin, tongue caught between his teeth in that way that means he’s about to participate in absolute monkey business.

He launches himself forward after a second, bodyslamming Dan back against the bed, barely remembering to shove a hand under the back of Dan’s head before he ends up with a concussion from the wall. 

“You’ve earned a cuddle,” Phil informs him, all fake-stern.

“You’re reckless,” Dan snipes, but he finds himself wiggling into place anyways, humming a bit when Phil’s arm squishes him close.


	14. Chapter 14

“I know how to do this,” Alex protests. Their fingertips press against his jaw for a moment, turning his face this way and that. He sort of hates the feeling of it. He hates the fact that he hasn’t figured out how to do it himself.

“Alright,” they say after a second. He blinks his eyes open, darting to the bathroom to look.

It’s just the same soft pink as always. Dan had cringed when Alex had first given it to him, until they’d patiently pointed out that it wouldn’t look like much of anything against his pale skin, just a vague scrap of something to play with when he wants it. He hasn’t figured out if he’ll ever want more than that. It’s mainly just the ritual of it, now. He likes sitting with Alex while they make a big fuss over painting him, even when he looks mostly the same at the end.

He can’t bring himself to look for very long. He speeds back into his room, grinning when Alex rolls their eyes at his glee. He hurtles into their space, tucking himself in small into their waiting arms, ducking his head down low so they can rest their chin on top.

“I know it’s nothing,” he says, quiet, like he always does.

“It’s not nothing,” Alex says. They fuss a bit with his curls with their free hand, doing something that apparently Dan hadn’t thought of earlier.

“Okay,” Dan agrees. They snort a quiet little laugh at how easily he gives in, now. 

Dan tugs at the hem of his shorts. It’s still weird how bare his legs feel in them, even though they’re longer than pants and it’s not like he isn’t accustomed to just wearing those.

“Have some decency,” Alex chides, smiling when Dan laughs. “Are you coming out with me?”

“No,” he says. He never does. They always ask.

It’s not like it’s – out of the realm of possibility, exactly. He knows he’d probably blend in, probably fade into the background of most of the places that Alex would ever ask to go to. It’s just the wide eyes and the way he clings and hides behind them that would give him away.

“Phil’s coming over, right?”

Dan nods. He’s trying not to think about it too much. He’s not really used to planning anything around this, and the calculus is giving him a headache.

“I’ll stay a minute?”

“Please,” he says, quiet.

They stay there a while. Alex could probably fuss about not being entirely ready to go, or wanting to leave now, or whatever, but – they’re steady, holding him close like he’s really as small and fragile as he feels sometimes.

_honey i’m home,_ his phone finally buzzes.

He halfway expects Phil to be different too, by the time he makes it to the door. It’s like the world is slightly crooked. Phil looks just the same, anyways, all dark hair and big eyes and a sheepish smile on his face like he doesn’t know if he’s actually meant to be there.

“Can I get you a key?” Dan blurts. “You should have a key.”

“Fucking hell,” Alex says, somewhere in the periphery.

Phil glances between the two of them, obviously caught off guard. 

“He’s not asking you to move in,” Alex says, catching Dan’s wrist and tugging him away from the door. “He’s just a weirdo and he says whatever words he’s got sometimes.”

“I do not,” Dan protests. He tries to dig his heels into their slippery wood floor, without much luck.

“Did you want me to?” Phil asks, uncertain.

“Um. I mean, sure, like –”

“Phil, can you comment on Danny’s face so I can leave,” Alex cuts in, suddenly impatient.

Phil gapes up at him for a moment like he hadn’t noticed. Dan doesn’t know if he likes the idea that it isn’t notable, or if he’d like to run away and hop out the back window and never ever return.

“You look really nice,” Phil says. He sounds a bit – tentative, like he’s not sure if that’s the right answer. He glances at Alex, who shrugs.

“Great. You’re not going to burn anything?” Alex asks. 

“No, probably not,” Phil says. 

It gets him a smile, anyways. Alex glances between them, for a moment, and then says some nonsense about needing to find something. They grab Dan again as they go back towards the hall, spinning him towards the couch with a little shove. Phil follows after a beat.

“I thought we could – are you done working?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. He’s already drooping, it looks like, sort of sagging left like the wind’s gone out of his sails.

“Okay. There’s this new anime, and then I’ve got – uh, very bad wine, so if you’d like to be a dork and drink –”

“Shit grapes,” Phil offers, sleepy. Dan wrinkles his nose.

“... shit grapes, then this is the place to be, I think, as far as that goes.”

“Wretched grapes,” Phil says. Dan shakes his head and goes to get the wine, since it’s obviously made some kind of impression on Phil’s addled brain. “Just absolutely bad,” Phil adds, once Dan returns.

“Just the worst experience of your whole life,” Dan says, handing him his water glass of wine. Phil makes a pleased little humming noise. “Are you gonna stay alive over there?”

“I’m gonna sleep for thirty years,” Phil says. “Like Jesus.”

Dan doesn’t remember an enormous amount about Jesus, but he’s pretty sure that wasn’t part of the story. He’s too bewildered to really argue, though, and anyways Phil’s already frowning down at his glass like it’s done him some sort of wrong; he doesn’t seem like he’s willing to participate in one of Dan’s spats. Dan doesn’t ask. He sets up the show, only glancing up once, when Alex finally leaves.

They watch quietly for a while, bickering a bit over the plot. Phil has a habit of getting distracted by the ceiling, and then asking Dan to explain every little detail of what’s happened until Dan groans and rolls the timer back a few minutes.

“Is that makeup?” Phil says.

“The blue stuff on the girl’s face?”

“No,” Phil says. He doesn’t clarify. He’s tipped his face towards Dan, staring at him blearily from the other side of the couch.

“No, my eyelids always have glitter like this.”

“Oh, okay,” Phil says, quiet and meek like he actually thinks that’s true and he hasn’t noticed. Dan realizes too late that that does seem like something Phil would manage.

“Mate,” Dan says. “It’s fully makeup. Sorry.”

“Oh. Um, it’s nice.”

Dan shrugs, giving him a little smile. He doesn’t know why – well, he does. He does know why he cares. Phil’s the only one that’s really seen this, other than Alex, who counts for a lot and also doesn’t count at all. 

“Thanks,” he says, quiet.

“Have you had it on before?”

“Yeah.”

“D’you wear it a lot?”

“Just at home, sometimes.”

“Not out? Have I seen it?”

Dan feels his face crinkle at the question, sees the way Phil sort of cringes, one side of his face going tense like he isn’t sure if he should’ve said anything.

“No,” Dan says, willing his voice to be even. “It just seems weird, right?”

“My brother does it,” Phil says. “He’s got the – uh. The pencil one? And the – like a gold marker.”

Dan has absolutely no idea what he’s trying to describe.

“Mine’s pink, though.”

“Sure,” Phil says, absently, like he thinks Dan’s quite dim for pointing out that gold and pink are not the same color.

“Do you have any questions?” Dan asks, suddenly feeling a bit demanding. Phil’s already turned back to the screen by then, but he gives Dan a look like it’s some kind of imposition.

“Are you like Alex?”

Dan winces. He squirms, tugging at the big soft jumper he’d put on earlier. He doesn’t think it’s ever itched before, but it does now. Somehow. That doesn’t seem like science. He’s got no one normal to ask, anyways.

He doesn’t really – think he’s like Alex. It’s just something he likes, sometimes, but only ever in his own space, and he only manages to say anything about it when he’s feeling demanding and a bit unreasonable. The thought of just being _like this_ all the time makes him want to bolt. He’s sort of a wimp about the whole thing, he’s realized. 

He’s thrown off by the way Phil’s saying things and asking questions that he didn’t plan for. He’d just expected – the questions he himself had. If all this is allowed; if it’s too much to be this way.

“Don’t think so,” he manages to say, when he remembers he hasn’t answered Phil’s question. Phil’s still watching him, big blue eyes studying in a way that Dan doesn’t understand how to parse. He thought – he’d expected that curiosity. He hadn’t prepared himself for the easy way Phil’s talking about this, like Dan’s a bit behind. He doesn’t know if he wants more of a drama or if that would just be worse. 

He grabs his stupid wine glass, drinking down too much at once and wincing when his throat has to work to keep up.

“Dan,” Phil says. “What do you want me to ask?”

“I don’t know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah really,” Dan huffs. 

“You’re confusing,” Phil tells him. It’s – gentle, though. He’s got a little twinkle in his eye, Dan thinks. Phil’s looking at him like he’s willing to wait for Dan to act normal. Or whatever. Whatever his bad approximation of normal is, hopefully, since Dan doesn’t really think he’s going to manage the real thing any time soon. He hopes Phil has figured out how low the bar should be.

“Yeah,” Dan agrees, defeated. “Sorry.”

“You look really pretty.”

“Okay.”

“Daniel.”

He just – he suddenly doesn’t want to have to deal with the reality that Phil is looking at him. He doesn’t really know how to say that.

“Sorry,” Dan says, guilty. “I just – um. I get a bit weird. Alex gets to see this and no one else really does and I get – like, really scared, sometimes. I guess. I don’t know. This is kind of the first time I’ve tried, like, being around someone else. I don’t want it to be weird but it’s – it feels really weird. I’m sorry.”

“What’re you scared of?” Phil asks, quiet. He sounds like – like he thinks Dan’s just going to be scared of Phil, which – he is, sort of. He sounds like he thinks the fear could fit within the constraints of his reassurances. Dan doesn’t think he’s really prepared for the enormity of it.

“Dying,” he blurts. What the fuck. 

Phil’s face crumples into something quizzical and maybe a bit worried. “Dying,” he repeats, slowly.

“That’s dramatic,” Dan says. He doesn’t think it helps Phil when he changes tracks so fast, starting and backing off and then rushing away again, but – it’s hard to stop, is all.

“It’s that bad?” Phil asks.

Dan moves to chew on the edge of his thumb on instinct, but he’s fucked that up, too. He only remembers when the chemical smell of the polish hits his nose. He yanks his hand out of his mouth, tangling his fingers together in his lap and shivering instead, one big shake like there’s electricity running through him.

“Um. It’s pretty bad.”

“Did something happen?”

He stares at Phil for a minute, surprised. 

Phil’s always sort of seemed like he’s in his own version of the universe, drifting about in the clouds a lot of the time. Sometimes he comes down to earth to check in on things, but – not often, really. Dan’s never really thought of him as particularly perceptive. Until now. Until now, with Phil looking up at him, like he already kind of knows what Dan’s going to say.

“Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t really want to elaborate. He doesn’t – really know what Phil’s seen in his own life, or what he’s seeing reflected in Dan right now. He doesn’t want to get into the whole list of _incidents._

Phil’s already got that look of recognition, anyways, like he’s way ahead of Dan and just waiting for him to catch up.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says. 

“Not your fault,” Dan says, automatic.

“Sorry it’s following you, then.” 

That is what it feels like, a lot of the time. Like he’s got a ghost tagging around with him, and he can’t explain that it’s there without making everyone think he’s crazy. 

Phil seems so genuine about the whole thing. He’s watching Dan, still, even when he’d complained so much earlier about missing bits of the show. He’s looking at Dan like he really wants to see him.

Dan doesn’t really know what to do about that. It’s not like he hasn’t met other people who are like him, but – the fact that he’s only ever talked to Alex or to his old psychologist doesn’t really help. It probably doesn’t help that it’s never been much of a choice; just something he’s pushed to the edge and only admitted as he’s watching it all shatter into pieces.

“You, too,” he says, stilted.

Phil smiles a bit, like it was the right thing to say – or at least he understands that Dan’s got no idea what the right thing is right now.

“Can we go back to the beginning? I have no idea what’s going on any more,” Phil says, after a beat. 

Dan nods, shuffling over to his laptop to move them back again.

“You didn’t know what was going on at the beginning, either,” he gripes. Phil’s fingers catch in the sleeve of his jumper. He tugs a bit, gentle like he’s worried he’ll stretch it. It makes Dan want to laugh. He’s never seen Phil be that careful with his own stuff; he doesn’t know what his goofy sales rack jumper did to deserve this treatment.

“This is really soft,” Phil says, sort of awed.

Dan flops over on impulse. He intends to wiggle until his head’s on Phil’s lap, but Phil collapses under him, pulling him in for a cuddle. He yawns as soon as they’re mostly horizontal.

“You just wanted to experience how soft it is the whole time,” Dan mumbles. Phil’s hand is already skimming over his back, flat and purposeful like he really was just waiting for permission.

“Fall asleep,” Phil says. “I’m gonna steal it as soon as you start snoring.”

\--

“Charlie’s got some sort of boyfriend.”

Dan doesn’t ask why he’s _some sort_ instead of a normal, bog standard boyfriend.

“Oh,” he says. “Guess Phil can’t bag him, then.”

Alex pulls a face. They must have gone ham with an eyeliner pencil while Dan wasn’t paying attention, earlier, if the random streaks of lime green are anything to go by. It looks – cool, but a bit hilarious on the current edition of Alex, who’s quite drunk and eating cereal out of a barely washed bowl in their tiny kitchen at two in the morning. 

Alex reaches for him, putting each hand on one of Dan’s shoulders. They stare into his eyes for a minute. Dan tries not to laugh.

“You should keep him,” they tell him solemnly, straining to get all the letters in.

“You should go to sleep.”

“Nope, ‘m busy,” Alex says, turning back to their bowl. “Mind your business.”


	15. Chapter 15

“You’re alright on your own, then?”

“You’re not my real mum,” Dan mumbles, automatic. He’s busy with the counters again.

He’s probably not meant to be talking to his boss that way, but Sarah’s giving him an indulgent little smile when he looks up. Nothing’s happening, anyways. Everyone’s gone back to school and it’s a fucking Tuesday morning, so he’s essentially just here to make it look like they’re a normal shop that keeps normal business hours. For all the freaks that want ice cream at ten in the morning on a Tuesday, in the autumn, in the middle of another downpour.

“Right,” Sarah says. “That’s a check negative. Three hundred more and you’ll be fired for sure, remember.”

“Okay,” he says. “Does it make it better if I say you’re kind of my real mum?”

She shakes her head, quick. She’s fussing over some of the napkin containers and generally doing things that are Dan’s job. He doesn’t know why, but he thinks she’s dawdling. 

“Nope. Don’t want that kind of responsibility on my plate, no thank you,” she says. She glances up eventually, looking – proper worried, like he hasn’t done this alone before or something, didn’t run the shop by himself for half of April. “You’re sure you’re alright alone, Daniel?”

“Yeah,” he says, easy.

She seems satisfied with that, finally circling back to the office to get her things, slipping out while he’s double-checking the cups again.

Phil hurries in a minute later, blushing bright red.

“I ran into Sarah,” he says, quiet and uncertain. 

Dan reaches for his coffee, tugging a bit to untangle it from Phil’s clutches. He slows down once he’s got it free, cupping it in his hands and basking in the steam for so long that Phil’s eyes start flicking nervously towards the case. Dan sighs dramatically and puts his cup down.

“Did you now?”

“Holding a coffee, so – I’ve been caught,” Phil says. Dan hums, busy whacking a scoop into shape.

Dan holds out his cup of hazelnut after a minute. “She doesn’t really mind.”

Phil eyes him, suspicious. He takes the cup like it’s poisoned or something. Dan thinks he’s only accepting it because he can’t bear to leave the sugar hanging, not because he actually trusts Dan in this moment.

“No?”

“Um. Bit of a fib, first of all, I just couldn’t keep buying coffees by proxy. Also, second, I did tell her the other day that I bring home a medium ice cream cake every weekend, and I think she thought I was serious.”

Phil pauses.

“And she didn’t mind that idea?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, horrible boy,” Dan says. Phil gives him a big comical pout, like he’d gotten attached to the concept in the space of a few seconds. 

“Guess I’ll keep my day job,” Phil sighs. He retreats to his new spot along the back counter, flashing the pout at Dan again once he’s pulled out his laptop. Dan’s already expecting it. He grins back, making a tapping motion with his finger in the air like he’d bop Phil’s nose if he were closer.

\--

“Should we get other friends?”

“Why?”

“Don’t you think – like, everyone else in London has got loads of friends? And we’re playing Mario Kart on a Saturday?” 

“You’re losers,” Alex says, not even bothering to look up from their textbook.

“Cheers, dickhead,” Dan says.

“We can’t fit anyone else in this place,” Alex adds. Fucking – unhelpful little bastard. Dan would clobber them if he could reach, but he’s too lazy to go over there.

“Do you have to put all your friends in one place? Like in a storage container?” Phil asks. “I don’t think the plastic ones come that big.”

Dan grumbles. He bumps the nose of his cart sideways into Phil’s back tire, giggling when Phil spins out and gets stuck somewhere, clumsily trying to turn himself around.

“Evil spoon,” Phil whines. He stays distracted for a while, bumping around looking completely out of sorts in the back of the pack. Dan can breathe easy. Well. Scream easy, mainly. He’d said he just wanted to beat Phil, but that’s never exactly true, not once he’s remembered he’s _good_ at Mario Kart and that actual proper winning is an option.

“Every time Danny makes a friend he has to live with them,” Alex pipes up from their beanbag.

“That’s not true,” Dan protests, swerving wildly across the course.

“Really?” Phil asks.

“He lives with me,” Alex says, mild now, and mostly directed at Phil. “And you’re here, Phil.”

“That’s all two of my friends,” Dan agrees. He’s fallen into second and he’s feeling fucking sullen about the whole thing.

“How’d you move in together?”

Dan glances over, and Phil’s looking at Alex instead of the screen, controller loose in his hand. King Boo is bouncing against a wall, doing three-point turns that Phil’s somehow managing to turn into twenty-five-point turns.

“You’re _horrible_ at this.”

“He –”

“Alex,” Dan cuts in. “I will kill you.”

“Is this going to be one of those things,” Alex says, flat like it’s not exactly a question. It takes Dan a minute, but – he supposes he does sometimes refuse to tell Phil things. A little bit. Only for his own good, though.

It’s just – this isn’t for his own good. It’s just that Dan’s embarrassed, really. He clamps his mouth shut anyways, zooming the last distance to the finish line.

“If I saw Toad on the street I’d kick that little baby’s butt,” he says, instead.

“Danny.”

Dan sighs, puffing his cheeks out. Phil’s looking at him from the other side of the couch, where he got exiled after the last race, all wide-eyed with curiosity like always. Dan doesn’t think he’s even noticed that he’s come in twelfth.

“I dropped out of uni,” Dan mumbles. He keeps his eyes on the victory dance on the screen, stubborn. “And I cried on Alex’s kitchen floor in the middle of a party until they let me sleep in their closet for like a month. And then I went home to Reading and I cried there. Like, because it’s Reading, I don’t know. It seemed worth crying about. Um. And then I came back here because – Lex said we could sign a lease and I could cry in my own room in my own flat, I guess. Big help.”

“Your fault for looking like a lost baby duck,” Alex chips in.

“You went to uni?” Phil says. Like he hasn’t got any questions about the rest of it. Dan doesn’t get that, but – he doesn’t really get a lot of what Phil focuses on.

“For a year. Sort of.”

“He mainly just cried in my closet for the last bit,” Alex says. Dan rolls his eyes. He taps impatiently at his controller, flicking between characters like he’d ever actually change from Princess Peach.

“Is that a simile?”

“What?” Dan has blocked out, admittedly, every single thing he ever learned in English class, but he’s pretty sure it isn’t a simile.

“A metaphor, I meant,” Phil says, exasperated like Dan’s the one being unreasonable. “You don’t really fit in a closet, right?”

“It’s not a metaphor,” Alex says, ignoring Dan’s eye roll. “He can fit pretty well in a closet if he bends his legs a bit, actually. It’s kind of impressive. Kind of like a magic show, but in my closet, you know?”

“It was pathetic.”

Alex looks up, shrugging with this surprised little smile, like they really thought that _it’s impressive you can literally fit all those limbs in a closet_ was a pretty good compliment. Dan hates this whole conversation.

“You should try to fit Dan in the one here? I think it’s a bit smaller,” they say to Phil, like Dan didn’t say anything worth responding to.

“Sort of like his native habitat, maybe,” Phil muses. Dan is very tempted to kill the both of them.

He snatches Phil’s controller out of his hand, instead, hitting Ready and then tossing it back into his lap just to hear Phil squawk that he very much _wasn’t_ ready.

“No more laughing about Danny’s great big extra fun mental breakdown,” he announces, trying and mostly failing to sound stern. “Time for King Boo to go to penguin hell again.”

\--

“We didn’t have boats in Manchester,” Phil’s complaining.

“You think we had boats in Reading? You think Reading has boats?”

“No. Perfect. So there’s no problem, then.” He’s got a big expectant pout on his face like he really, truly believes this is a good argument.

Dan reels back, waving a hand around at the goddamn boat museum that Phil has brought them to. Except it’s not a boat museum, it’s just a museum for the docks. A museum of things that are near boats but _aren’t_ even boats.

Maybe he’s being – a touch dramatic. On the other hand: they’re at a not-even-boats museum and they’ve been there for two hours and Dan has read more about docks than he ever wanted to know and he does not care to be friends with this horrible little man any longer. He is going to escape by any means possible, and that’s just how it has to be.

A peaceful older couple walks around the corner. They look like his nana and his grandpa, all proper, talking softly in French about the not-boats like they’re meant to be here. 

Dan cringes, tucking his arms in close so he doesn’t look so fucking enormous in the narrow corridor, pressing his lips together tightly so he can’t get himself shouted at for disrupting the not-even-boats-museum experience. 

He stares fixated at the sign explaining – something about the coffee industry in the 1800s. The couple passes by without incident.

“Dan,” Phil says, quiet. Dan finally looks back at him. He’s expecting – sulking, or something. Frustration, maybe. Whatever feeling it is that Dan usually elicits in people when he’s having a strop for no good reason. 

Phil just looks worried, instead.

Dan hates how easily he can jar him. It’s like Phil’s turned all his sensitive spots towards Dan and Dan’s always wandering backwards, flailing and jabbing at him and generally being a big clumsy horrible bastard.

“Did you want to go to the school museum? It’s down the street.”

“I already went to school,” Dan says. There’s a bit of a whine creeping into his voice.

The giddiness of going exploring with Phil has worn off, battered around by all of the commotion of actually being out. The adrenaline of bickering over where to go has fallen through, too, and he’s just – he’s caving in, really.

Phil snorts at Dan’s garbage explanation for why he doesn’t want to go. He smiles, slow and crooked. 

“We’ll go somewhere else,” he says. “You trust me?”

Dan just wants to go home, really, but he doesn’t want to ruin everything for Phil. He nods.

\--

Phil leads him down into the Tube, bouncing a little on his feet the whole way like he actually knows where he’s going. It would be the first time in his whole entire life, probably.

Dan sits next to him. Phil’s tapping his foot on the floor, craning his neck to look around even though they’re traveling through a dark tunnel. Dan wants so badly to slump into him, tilt into his space and let Phil play with his hair and – all that. He settles for kicking his foot under Phil’s tapping one. It looks like an accident, two long-legged idiots crossing over into each other’s space.

Phil’s toes come down over his. He looks over, confused for a moment before he breaks into a grin, leaning in close to bonk their shoulders together.

“It’ll be fun,” he murmurs, soft like he’s trying not to disturb the lady having a nap across the aisle, even though the shrieking sound the train makes around a corner is more likely to do that then Phil’s quiet voice.

“Sure,” Dan says.

\--

_“This?”_

Phil’s beaming at him. He raises his eyebrows, mischievous. Dan frowns at him and spreads his hands out, gesturing incoherently at the fucking flower show that Phil’s brought him to.

“You don’t like it?” Phil asks. He sounds sincere, but he doesn’t look it. He just looks smug, mainly, eyes glittering with glee. The sun’s out, for once. Dan’s just noticing. 

“It’s _lovely,”_ he says. Phil laughs at that, poking at Dan’s ribs like he’s determined to make his cross scowl drop off his face.

“You’re lovely,” Phil says, soft. “Like a doily.”

“You’re horrid,” Dan snipes, tugging desperately at the muscles in his face until they settle back into a frown. Phil grins again, spinning away and venturing off to talk to one of the vendors, leaving Dan standing still and bewildered on the pavement. 

He thinks maybe he’s meant to tag along as backup, but – he really, truly doesn’t know what they’re doing here, and he doesn’t understand how you’re supposed to act at a flower market, and he doesn’t feel like he’s being particularly charming to anyone today, much less strange flower market people, and – well. For once in their friendship, Phil seems genuinely sure of what he’s doing. Dan stays where he is, awkward and enormous again. He pulls out his phone and flicks through Twitter.

“We’re going to look around,” Phil announces, voice suddenly nearby again. Dan looks up, and he’s got a careful hand around a bouquet of – some blue-ish flowers that Dan doesn’t actually know the name of.

“Aren’t those expensive?” he blurts.

“They’re for my grandma’s birthday party,” Phil says.

“Isn’t she dead? Or have you got a spare one?”

Dan’s – not making any bloody sense, even to himself, and he’s being rude and asking Phil how many dead grandmas he has, and – Phil’s beaming, anyways.

“I’ve got two and they’re both dead,” he says, all pleased.

“We’re going to her grave?”

“You’re dim.”

“You _said_ they were for your grandma, and _you_ said she’s dead.”

“Correct,” Phil says, patiently, like it’s unreasonable that Dan’s questioning the logic of the whole situation. “I told the nice lady they’re for my nan’s birthday party, and you asked if they were expensive. And they weren’t, because –”

“You _stole_ from an old lady?”

Phil giggles, shrugging, spreading his hands out like a cartoon character, flowers waving wildly in his hand.

“That’s like stealing candy from a baby,” Dan sputters. “That’s so – you’re a criminal. You can’t lie and steal flowers from an old lady, that’s a crime. If you did that to my nana’s flowers you’d be –”

“Shhh,” Phil says, briefly putting a hand to Dan’s lips to quiet him. He only grins more when Dan sticks out his tongue and licks it. 

“We’re going to look at those orchids,” Phil says, sternly, pointing at a stall across the way. Dan falls into line. 

Phil knows, like, a fucking weird amount. The orchid vendor doesn’t seem terribly interested in talking to a pair of young idiot blokes, but Phil asks a few questions that Dan doesn’t understand at all and gets polite answers back, like something he said must’ve made some sort of sense.

“My mum runs a shop,” Phil says, when he catches Dan’s confused look.

“No.”

“What? What d’you mean no?” he demands, going wide eyed and giggly again like Dan’s said something funny.

“People only run flower shops in – stories,” Dan protests. “No one really has a flower shop, that’s a cliche for movies so it’s all romantic and bullshit.”

Phil laughs properly then, swatting at Dan’s arm with his free hand like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. 

“Go look at those dahlias.” He shoves at Phil’s shoulder until he spins around.

“Those are pansies,” Phil says, mild. He wanders over anyways, looking back just once to see if Dan will follow.

\--

“Where d’you want these?” Phil asks, once they’ve arrived home, dragging the flowers and a new vase and some odds-and-ends that went missing from the last grocery list.

“Wherever you want them,” Dan says, pottering around the kitchen. 

“They’re yours.”

Dan doesn’t – really know what to say to that. They’re in his house, but Phil’s the expert on what you’re meant to do with flowers. 

He knows how Phil gets, though. He pops out from behind the cupboards, and sure enough, Phil’s looking back at him with that soft worried look, like he’s worried he’ll put them somewhere wrong somehow.

“On the windowsill?” Dan tries. Phil beams, nodding like that was the right answer all along.

\--

“What are these?” Alex says, as soon as they’re home. Dan sort of wants to protest that their flat is mostly orderly and he does kind of attempt to decorate it, but – he can’t even think of whether they’ve ever had flowers.

“I got them,” Phil says cheerfully. He’s busy tapping at his laptop, but it’s like just having the vase nearby has cheered him up a bit.

They do smell nice. Dan’s into that part, even if he doesn’t know anything about them.

Alex is giving Dan a bit of a look, but they can’t look at him like that if he won’t look back. He glues his eyes on his phone.

He doesn’t – really want to think about what Phil meant when he bought them. He doesn’t want to get too attached to the idea. It’s probably just that Phil wanted their place to be a bit more familiar, if he grew up around this sort of thing, and that’s – easy. That makes sense.

“I like the purple,” Alex says, leaning down to smell them.

“That’s blue,” Dan says.

“They’re Peruvian lilies,” Phil says, ignoring Dan entirely. “I haven’t seen them that purple before, they’re usually like a magenta color when my mum gets them at the shop? I dunno, I thought they were cool. They must be breeding new ones.”

“They’re really nice, Phil,” they say. Dan doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Phil look that pleased.

\--

He tucks himself in close as soon as they’re in bed. Sometimes he makes a big show of brushing his teeth after Phil does, laying on the other side of the bed for a while, scrolling idly through his phone like he doesn’t _need_ to be in Phil’s space, but – sometimes he’s just proving that to himself, he thinks. 

He doesn’t want to say that he needs it right now, either. It’s just nice, is all. It’s getting chilly at night again, and Phil’s tucked the blanket close, like he knew Dan just needed – wanted – something extra tonight. It’s warm with the two of them pressed together, even with just Dan’s shitty blanket over them. The weight of Phil’s body against his is comforting. He’s boxed in between Phil and the wall along the side of his bed, slowly breathing with Phil’s arm anchoring him to the ground.

“You okay?” Phil says quietly into the dark, when Dan’s gone silent for a while, in the middle of bickering over whether Buffy has eight or ten toes.

“Yeah,” he says, raspy. “The world’s just a lot.”

He feels Phil shift. His hand moves up, cupping the back of Dan’s head, idly scratching at the short hair there. Dan sighs, pressing his cheek to Phil’s shoulder in a vague thank you.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey buds! Just a heads up that this chapter gets into Dan having a little bit of an unhealthy relationship with sex, and it's a little heavier than usual. It's also one of the two explicit chapters, so please totally feel free to skip it if that would be uncomfortable. You can also dm me [on tumblr if you want any more specifics before you hop in there!](https://chickenfreeblog.tumblr.com/)

“He bought you flowers?” Alex says, as soon as they’ve spit their toothpaste out. 

Dan sputters. They smirk at him in the mirror, like they know he’s barely awake and easily surprised right now. He wouldn’t even be conscious if it weren’t for his opening shift at the shop. Alex is only up for classes, but they’ve always been disconcertingly awake in the morning.

Dan spits, too, keeping his eyes carefully stuck on the tap. “It’s not like that,” he mumbles. 

He decides to ignore the look Alex gives him.

\--

Phil seems to lose interest in actually taking care of the flowers once they’re in the house. Dan fusses over trying to keep the water line up and asks where to get the little liquid fertilizer packets about a million times. Phil shrugs, smiling blithely. 

“My mum never really trusted me with the orchids and all that. Living things aren’t really my thing.”

“Dead stuff, though.”

“Yeah. Dead stuff’s great. I’m like a flower mortician, you know? You don’t want to – like, if you’re a mortician, you wouldn’t want it to be alive, that would be bad. I guess it’s a bit weird that we just stack all of them with their dead friends and take them to a wedding to show off, but –”

He trails off when Dan laughs, startling at the loudness of it and then pouting a bit. “Sorry,” he mumbles after a second. “Weird words.”

It sounds – sort of rote, like it’s something someone’s told him. Like Phil would just go on talking nonsense if it weren’t for the little chastising voices in his head. Dan knows that feeling too well. He wants to go on laughing, but he schools his face back down to a softer smile.

“I like when you talk,” he says. 

Phil pulls a face, skeptical. He turns back to his laptop like he’s not interested in the conversation, but there’s something off in the set of his shoulders.

“Actually. You’re funny. You just – you say things that surprise me, but that’s not, like. It’s not a bad thing.”

“I’ve always been the weird kid,” Phil says, quietly.

Dan tips his head. He’s only ever been the weird kid in an obnoxious way, but – Phil’s not like that. He’s just a bunch of smart, sideways thoughts hidden behind a quiet wall. He doesn’t feel like making the distinction, anyways. Phil doesn’t really need that.

“You n’ me both, bub,” Dan says.

He holds his pinky out like he’s promising something, even though he doesn’t know what that is. Phil stares at it for a minute, but he gives it a little shake. 

\--

Dan startles. 

Phil’s flopped back against the back of the couch, arms spread wide, and he keeps making – that _sound._ Whatever it is. The one that sounds like a velociraptor that’s – getting laid, or something. 

“Are you dying?” he asks. Phil makes another horrible noise.

“Are you a dinosaur at an orgy?”

Phil goes quiet for a minute, like he’s really thinking about it.

“I’m a giraffe with a mental illness,” he mumbles, after a minute. He sounds genuinely out of it, like he’s properly given up on speaking English. Dan’s seen him go a bit mute before, but he still doesn’t really know what to do.

“You want me to leave?” he offers, uncertain. “I can get you a coffee and walk you home, if it would be quieter there.”

Phil shakes his head. Dan can just see his chin waggle from this angle, propped with his head in the crook between Phil’s thigh and his hip. Phil swallows, adam’s apple bobbing. 

“My brother’s probably playing his keyboard,” he says after a minute. “It’s easier here.”

“I can leave you alone, if you just want my room?”

Phil tips his chin down, finally looking Dan in the eyes for a moment. His hair’s all mussed from the way he was tugging on it earlier, sagging into his eyes like he defeated all the product that was in it. 

“Stay there and play on your phone like the world isn’t falling apart,” he says, suddenly bossy.

\--

“Phil,” Dan whines, high and frustrated. 

Phil giggles. He shuffles them sideways so Dan can reach up and put a bowl into the cupboard, but his grip doesn’t relax a bit. He sways back to the sink when Dan does. Dan feels him laughing, chest shifting against his shoulders and his belly expanding against the small of his back. It’s settling something in Dan, just having him so close, but – he’s fucking annoying, too, like a big backpack with legs.

He swats at Phil’s bum with the towel, flailing since he can’t really see where he’s aiming. He laughs when Phil squawks something that sounds like _unfair,_ finally spinning away.

\--

“I have bad news,” Phil announces over dinner.

“Okay?”

“And uh – and good news? Maybe?”

“Okay,” Dan says, slowly.

“The bad news is I can’t be bothered to walk to my brother’s, and I forgot it’s Thursday, so unless you’ve got a flying car, I have to call my parents from here.”

“You forgot it’s Thursday?” Alex asks.

“You know there’s also just plain, regular cars, right?”

Phil purses his lips for a moment, fork hovering in the air. He looks a bit caught out, like he still doesn’t know how to keep up with the combined force of Dan and Alex’s constant nonsense. 

“You can use my room,” Dan says, softer. 

Phil doesn’t really answer their barrage of questions, but he gives Dan a little smile and goes back to eating. Something loosens again in his shoulders.

He hurries off as soon as they’re done, and then reappears and sheepishly puts his bowl in the sink before disappearing again. Dan settles on the couch with Alex, bickering over whether they can start a movie at the ten minute mark, when they’ve seen it and he hasn’t.

_uh can you come here_

_?_

_sorry_  
the kath is asking about you  
the kath is my mum 

“I’m leaving since you’re doing cinema crimes,” Dan mutters to Alex, rolling off the couch.

His door is cracked open a few inches when he gets there. Phil grins up at him, watching while Dan settles down next to him instead of paying attention to his family.

“Well hello, Daniel,” Kath says, cheerful as ever. She doesn’t explain why she wanted to see him, but – he supposes Phil’s probably mentioned that he mostly lives at Dan’s flat now, and maybe she wants to confirm that he’s not an axe murderer. He could still be an axe murderer who’s just really good at acting normal on Skype, actually, but – nevermind.

She and Phil’s brother have gone right back to whatever they were talking about when Dan walked in, which was apparently a spat about whether the music Martyn plays is any good. Dan doesn’t recognize half of the ‘better’ musicians that she rattles off, and anyways he doesn’t think he knows what Martyn’s into. He zones out again for a while, rolling the fabric of his duvet cover between pinched fingers.

Phil sighs, like he doesn’t have anything to say either. He tips into Dan’s space, bumping their shoulders together and leaning until his head falls against Dan’s for a moment. His hand lands on Dan’s knee again. It’s like he doesn’t think anything of it.

“He could just play Taylor Swift,” he murmurs, too quiet for the mic to pick up. 

Dan has to slap a hand over his mouth to stop his shrieky laugh from escaping. It’s probably not any less conspicuous. 

He glances at the screen. Phil’s mum is still frowning, needling her other son about whether he’ll ever learn about any _good_ dance music. Dan sees a blur of dark red behind Martyn as his girlfriend falls back against the couch, giggling. They just – they don’t seem to be paying Phil’s little square any mind. 

He likes that, he thinks. He can’t quite trust it, but – he really likes it.

\--

“Is that your real hair?” he blurts, once the laptop is off and they’ve brushed their teeth and Phil’s shoved his frigid little hands against Dan’s stomach, whining some nonsense about thermal effects. 

“What?”

“Your mum’s is kinda red, and your brother’s is really red, and your dad’s is blond, so – I mean.”

“Thought you were asking if I was bald under this,” Phil murmurs, sleepy. “I mean, I guess I _am_ bald under this, if you think about it.”

“Are you a ginger?” Dan says, impatient. 

“I’m not telling,” Phil says.

“That’s a yes.”

“Okay.”

“You think being ginger is _okay?”_

Phil grumbles. He kicks one of his cold feet between Dan’s calves.

“Why’re you so touchy when we call your parents?” Dan asks, since the other conversation wasn’t getting them anywhere. He just – gets this way, sometimes, fussing and poking at every thought until he finds one that gets some kind of reaction.

“I’m sleeping,” Phil huffs. Dan pinches the soft skin along his waist; Phil swats at him.

“Now you’re not,” Dan says.

Phil sighs, flopping onto his back and tugging at the blanket, pulling it close around himself so Dan can’t start shit again.

“It’s just – like a test,” he tells the ceiling. “They said it’s fine, but it’s – it’s not like I’m bringing anyone to meet them.”

“Except me.” 

He doesn’t really know why he says it. He’s just a shitty mate, anyways. Maybe he’s a placeholder where a boyfriend could be, and maybe Phil’s a bit dependent on him for a cuddle, but it’s not like it’s the same thing if he pops into a phone call once in a while. It doesn’t mean anything if Phil’s touching his knee while they talk or staying at Dan’s flat to look after him. He gets it, he thinks. He’s low stakes. He’s like a plastic crash dummy, basically, like putting a goldfish on the counter when you’d rather have a dog.

Phil tilts his face back towards Dan, even though he’s still got a defensive grip on the blanket. Dan can’t really make out his expression in the dark. 

“Right, except you,” Phil says, soft.

\--

He wakes up to something thunking down on his face.

“Huh?”

There’s a little noise on the other side of the bed, but it’s not quite words.

“Phil,” he whines, curling his sleep-clumsy fingers around his wrist and trying to move Phil’s heavy limp arm out of the way without waking him. 

“Squirrel king,” Phil murmurs. 

Dan sighs. He tugs at the blanket and stares at the snake-shaped crack on the ceiling for a while. 

Phil makes a little incoherent whining noise at some point, face scrunching into a frown. A part of Dan wants to wake him up and tell him it’s impossible to sleep with his chattering, make Phil stay up with him awhile to see how it feels, but – he doesn’t. He doesn’t know why, but he reaches over instead, curving a hand over Phil’s shoulder, just resting there. 

Phil sighs. His face softens. He’s still squirming, kicking out at something Dan can’t see, but he rolls into Dan after a minute and stills like he’s found some kind of peace. Dan falls asleep again with his hand in Phil’s hair.

\--

The shop is just – monotonous. He’s been there too long to still be learning anything, now. Ellie and Alex and Sarah are only in when he’s not. The crowds have thinned out since the summer, and they still haven’t got the kitchen done for pastries or anything. He’s just sort of standing there a lot of the time, acting as a placeholder until Phil gets bored enough to visit or someone else comes in to free him. 

It’s like the – _thing_ following him around hasn’t got any reason to be there. Like it hasn’t got a name anymore. He doesn’t understand that. He hasn’t done anything to summon it in months. He’s dealt with each iteration, and now it’s just hovering behind him anyways, little tendrils brushing static into his limbs and making him struggle against its grasp. 

Ellie’s got that look on her face when she picks up a Friday afternoon shift with him. She doesn’t say anything about it, but it’s – he doesn’t think they’re supposed to say anything. He’s pretty sure they’ve all agreed behind his back not to say anything. 

Some distant part of his brain tries to tell him that they mean well, but it fucking chafes. It fucking chafes at him that he’s this horrible thing made of porcelain and that the lightest tap could send him to pieces, and that they all know it just as well as he does, because they’ve all seen him shattered and they’ve all peered at the fragile bits of him and spent hours trying to figure out how to piece him back together without making it too obvious to the world that he’s not made the way a person’s meant to be. 

He just – he hates it. It’s simple. He fucking hates it.

He chokes over his words talking to a customer, and flushes so red he can feel the blood rushing through his face, leaving the rest of him shaky and stranger than before. 

Alex just happens to be standing on the street when Ellie pushes him out the door. They’ve got their school bag over their shoulders, an easy smile on their face like they’d expected this or something. 

“How was work?” they ask while the two of them walk home. Alex’s steps keep stuttering to a stop, like Dan’s walking too slow. He probably is.

“Great,” he responds, too chipper. He doesn’t have much else to say.

\--

Phil’s home, when they get there. Phil’s always home. He lives there. Dan doesn’t know why it startles him.

\--

Something’s thumping in him, like it’s trying to beat its way out. Maybe it’s his pulse. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand what it wants. He doesn’t understand what he wants from himself, or from the world, or – anything, really.

He just knows what Phil wants, and that feels easy. He can do that, and Phil will react, and he’ll know that he’s got some sort of purpose for a minute.

It had just started with little touches. Phil had relaxed under him, sighing when Dan’s fingers had travelled over his tense shoulders, leaning into the touch. 

“S’ good,” Phil had mumbled, trusting Dan with that much.

He likes that. He likes that he’s good at this, even when it doesn’t feel like he’s good at anything. Phil told him that this is what he wants. 

It’s easy to give it to him. It’s so easy to commit to making Phil happy.

He presses his fingers against the soft flesh at Phil’s waist. The way it gives under his fingertips is reassuring. Like he has an effect on the universe, even if it’s just something small. 

He bumps his nose against Phil’s neck. Phil gasps a bit, hips bucking tentatively against Dan’s, like he’s holding something back. 

Dan doesn’t want that. 

He doesn’t really know what he wants, but he wants it to be big. He wants it to feel like fire, or dunking himself in an icy lake, or just – something. Something that isn’t afraid to be what it is.

Dan nods in response, ducking in and nipping at his neck. He wants to make it last, but he nudges a knee between Phil’s legs anyways, shifting so he’s snug against him. He rucks Phil’s soft t-shirt up, pulling away for a moment to give himself room to tug at it.

Phil shrugs out of his shirt, wiggling until it slips free of his shoulders. Dan flings it somewhere. He’s already cast off his own under the vague idea that he was getting ready for bed, or whatever, even though he doesn’t remember if that was ever really his intention. His fingers scour at Phil’s belt, desperate and clumsy. He tips back down into Phil’s space, propping himself up with one elbow beside Phil’s head so they can finally kiss while he works at it. Phil makes a hungry little pleased noise. Dan smiles into it.

Phil’s wiggling again, awkwardly kicking his jeans off, already, even though Dan doesn’t quite remember getting his belt loose. 

“These, too?” Phil asks, whispered into the space between them. Dan hums into his mouth, trying to peel the waistband of his pants back until Phil takes pity and sheds them. 

Phil’s hands skim over Dan’s bare back once he’s freed himself. He leaves a trail of gooseflesh in his wake, and Dan shivers. 

“Good?”

Dan nods. He presses close again, tucking his hand between their chests so he can trail his fingertips down Phil’s body, brushing carefully over the coarse hair. 

He circles his fingers over Phil, lets his thumb play over the head. His lube is – somewhere in his room, probably, but Phil’s already vibrating a bit. Dan doesn’t think he minds how quickly they’re moving. He’s flushed all the way down his chest, warm and real under Dan’s hands and just – right. Dan gives him a few good slow jerks, stopping only to smudge his thumb against his frenulum in a way that makes Phil’s hips buck. 

Phil pulls in another startled little gasp, like he’s surprised by the whole thing. 

Dan looks up from where he was staring at his fingers moving, and Phil’s got his bottom lip caught tight between his teeth. Dan can’t tell where the flush on his chest ends and the blush on his cheeks begins, even though he thinks it’s there from the look on Phil’s face. 

He feels his dimple cave in, skin tugging around the bend of his cheek. Phil really does look hot as fuck. There’s just something about him, sprawled under Dan’s thighs, needy and trusting and warm and beautiful that just – settles something that’s been whirling in Dan, at least for a minute. This feels right. _This is right,_ he thinks, steadier than he’s thought anything in a long time.

“You want me to fuck you?” he says, experimentally, keeping his hand moving steadily over Phil’s dick. Phil shakes his head, whining a bit.

“You wanna fuck me?”

“Nope. Not waiting,” Phil says, voice quiet and rough like it’s an effort. 

“Okay.” He takes his hand away to spit into it, smiling when Phil makes a soft noise again. He’s so needy. Dan speeds up his hand just a bit when he returns, leaning in close again so he can nip at the skin over Phil’s ribs. Phil rocks against his hand. Dan can’t aim with his squirming, so he settles for planting a wet smacking kiss just above his belly button before he shifts back up, laughing a bit when Phil jolts.

He noses at Phil’s neck. He’s not as completely wild for it as Dan is, but he tips his head anyways, squirming under Dan’s hands. Dan sucks his earlobe into his mouth for a second. 

“Are you always this easy?” he whispers, as soon as he pulls free. 

Phil makes a little noise, flopping his arm over his eyes. Dan laughs again, and he thinks Phil wheezes back. 

“Fuck you,” Phil manages.

“Could’ve,” Dan retorts. He smothers whatever Phil says next with another kiss. Phil lets him set the pace, wiggling his thigh underneath Dan until his legs are spread wide, opening his mouth a notch so Dan’s tongue can explore where it wants. 

Dan rewards him with a faster pace, for a minute. He stills just as Phil’s starting to properly thrash a bit. His dick is absolutely aching, hot and insistent, but – this is about what’s good for Phil, really. He can draw it out for another minute.

“Bastard,” Phil protests. It’s only a little gasp between their teeth, but the pinch on Dan’s ass gets his point across if the words don’t. Dan makes a halfhearted show of retaliating, but he’s already walked his knees back a few steps, bowing down and sucking Phil into his mouth with no particular warning. Phil groans, comically loud. His hips buck up. Dan sputters, popping off again.

“Okay, two rules. First of all, this isn’t a porno. Second of all – this isn’t a porno.”

“Fine,” Phil mumbles. “Sorry.”

“Maybe later,” Dan mutters, mostly to himself. 

“Jesus,” Phil says. 

Dan’s too busy bobbing his head to fuss about whether they should be bringing Jesus into all this. He tongues at the head again, just to see what’ll happen, which – turns out to be fun. He’s prepared when Phil tries to fuck up into his mouth again, shoving his thighs back down against the bed with his forearm until Phil gives in, making a little frustrated noise. 

He loses himself for a minute, too focused on the warm weight of Phil in his mouth. He’s not big enough to be uncomfortable, but – Dan has to pay attention. He likes that. He likes drifting a bit, just feeling the sensations of Phil’s veins under his tongue, paying attention to what makes Phil squirm. 

Phil tangles his fingers in Dan’s curls. He tugs at them like he’s got some feelings to get out, and Dan doesn’t mind that at all. He hums and huffs a pleased little sigh around Phil’s dick, which just sends Phil into even more of a fit.

He gets a bit brave, after a minute. He takes a breath and goes as far as he can for three or four bobs. He chokes on the last, and his eyes start to prick, but Phil doesn’t catch on, so it’s fine. He’s flinching and gasping under Dan’s grasp, even when it’s just Dan shifting to skim his thumb over the crease of his thigh.

“D’you have a plan?” Phil asks the ceiling. He sounds quite strangled. Dan feels – more than a bit smug about that.

Dan palms himself, absently, taking a second to think. He pops off again. 

“You’re gonna come in my mouth in a minute,” he says. 

He licks up the side and glares up at Phil when he whines again, absurdly noisy. Phil squeezes his eyes shut like that’ll make Dan’s miniature apartment situation disappear. 

“You’re so fucking loud,” he chides. Phil bites down on his knuckle, but he’s staring down at Dan with a sulky look like it’s some great hardship to keep his feelings to himself for a minute.

Dan bobs down to meet his hand again anyways. He gets the impression that chastising Phil isn’t actually helping his campaign to quiet him anyways. 

“Shit,” Phil mutters. Dan barely catches it at first, but then Phil’s squirming again, kicking his feet aimlessly at Dan’s ribs since Dan still won’t let his hips move. Dan gets the point and bottoms out, letting the pulsing warmth build at the back of his throat. He tries to focus on the way his throat has to work around it. He doesn’t pull off all the way until Phil tugs at his hair again, purposeful this time.

“Was that any good?” he murmurs. It’s not like he’s wildly insecure, but – well. He likes to check. He likes to know that he did it right.

Phil nods. He looks all drowsy, with his hair mussed and his glasses cast off somewhere. He’s warm and flushed red and shining with a bit of sweat even in the chill of Dan’s room, but – he looks beautiful. He looks like Dan had an effect. 

Dan tries to shove that thought out of the way. He reaches down, pushing the meat of his palm impatiently down the length of his dick. 

“Pretty good,” Phil confirms, with a sleepy little smile. “Hand?”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. He flops down next to Phil. 

It’s not like – he doesn’t like sex, or whatever. 

He likes the intensity of figuring someone out, figuring out how to have an effect and watching it happen, seeing over and over that he’s good at this.

When that’s over, though – he finds that he sometimes drifts too quickly, wandering off in his head to make a shopping list, or whatever it is that he does if there isn’t something to startle him into paying attention. It’s usually good anyways. Even a boring orgasm is enough sensation and up-and-down to wear out his brain just a little bit more, leave him loopy and quiet inside for a minute. Some days he likes that part more than he really cares about the specifics, but – that’s fine, probably.

Phil obviously has his own theories about what to do with a dick, and Dan’s happy enough to lay back and let him try his experiments. 

Phil plays with his foreskin a bit more than he would, and it feels – weird, but fine. Nice enough. He thinks he could make something out of it, probably, even if Phil’s moving drowsy and slow over him. He makes a little show of pushing his hips up against Phil’s hand and whining a bit, just enough to make Phil complain that _he_ wasn’t allowed to be that loud. Dan laughs a bit and Phil smiles, working his fist with a little more purpose.

Dan gets a case of the shakes as Phil builds into a steady pace, but he sees a flash of teeth in the dim light, like maybe Phil’s pleased that he’s so easily wrecked. 

He likes that. He likes the idea that Phil could like him like that. 

It’s been a long fucking time since he’s had an episode like this, shocked full of adrenaline in the middle of it for no reason, but – he can handle it, he thinks. He lets himself gasp a little bit more, lets his hand unclench and tremble loose against Phil’s skin. He arches his neck a little, making a show of it again.

He doesn’t – really know how long he sits with that feeling. There’s an ache somewhere between his thighs, and something warm beside him, but he’s just – full of static. He hears a strangled little choking noise, but he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. He can’t put the pieces together.

“Dan,” he hears, muddled. It sounds like a question.

It’s Phil. It’s Phil, and Dan’s supposed to be making it look like he’s normal. He was supposed to make this look good, like he can control himself, not like – not like he fell into bed with the first man that would probably have him and had a fucking episode so fast that there’s still a hand on his dick. 

“Can’t,” he says, weakly. His eyes flicker open. He doesn’t remember closing them. 

Phil’s staring down at him, wide-eyed. He looks perfectly, horrifyingly awake. 

“Can’t do this,” Dan manages. 

He sees something move across Phil’s face, but it’s like a flipbook that moves too fast. He loses track of the context, and he’s just left with the sinking feeling that something’s gone terribly askew. 

Phil’s moving away, leaving Dan shivering and cold and disoriented, still flat on his bed like he was when the world started to slip. 

“Okay,” Phil agrees, quiet. There’s a wobble in his voice that Dan can’t really parse the meaning of. “I’ll get Alex. You should – put some pants on.”

\--

Dan’s still shaking and entirely naked when Alex opens the door. He’s managed to pull part of the sheet over his middle, but the rest of it is trapped somewhere and he can’t tug it free. 

They don’t seem as surprised as he might have hoped.

“I ruined it,” Dan croaks.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Quick note that there's a super brief mention of vomiting in this one, and Dan talks a little bit about some less-than-chill decisions he's made in the past, similar to last chapter. Other than that, I think this is mostly a fun one. <3

“I’m not gonna yell at you,” Alex says. Dan’s been shoved into the shower and dragged out of the shower and now he’s tucked under their blankets, soft fabric against his bare skin.

“Okay,” he agrees, because he can’t say anything else. He cringes away from the exhaustion that’s plain across their face, forces himself to fall asleep before they can say anything more.

\--

“What,” Alex whispers, as soon as Dan’s blinked his creaky eyes open again. “The actual fuck was that.”

He squints around the room, trying to remember where he is and what for. There’s light shining in the window, but it’s coming in at the wrong angle, making everything seem just slightly askew. There’s a poster that isn’t his, and a lamp that looks like his lamp but with a different color post.

“Am I in hell?” he croaks. 

Alex flicks his arm, scowling back mockingly when Dan whines and tries to pull the blanket back over his head.

“My room, stupid boy. D’you remember last night?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? And?”

“Slept with Phil,” Dan mumbles. He figures they can stick to the facts.

“Yeah, you fucking madman.”

“And you’re mad at me.”

“Might be,” Alex hedges.

Dan sighs. He doesn’t know if he’s really sinking farther into Alex’s mattress, but – probably not. It’s probably just that he’s only noticing, now, how much he can weigh it down. He pinches a bit of the blanket between his fingers, rubbing at it and trying to work out what material it is. It’s not like he knows anything about that, but he needs something to hold on to.

“Danny,” Alex says, trying to tug him back to earth again. Or, like – earth, but their earth, not the helter skelter version where Dan gets to touch things and bury himself in his own head, block out everything else until it leaves him be.

He tries taking stock of how he’s feeling. It all feels a bit far away.

Usually it’s – good, after. Even if he takes a hard left into Freakyville, he just – he likes how it clears his mood, how he’s left feeling pliable and quiet inside in a way he doesn’t usually get to experience.

He doesn’t feel like that, now. 

He just feels – fucking stupid, mostly. There’s tendrils of something still tugging at him, and he can’t tell if he deserves to feel this way or not. It’s taking all of his mental power just to scrabble sleepily at Alex’s blankets, and he feels a headache winding its way around his brain as soon as he looks in their eyes. 

He doesn’t expect the confusion there.

Irritation, fine. He knows what to do when Alex just thinks he’s being useless, dicking around and making sideways moves that never get him anywhere. This isn’t that, though. Alex is staring at him with a look like he’s really surprised them, this time. 

He’s not used to that. He doesn’t do a lot of things that Alex doesn’t sort of expect, even when he thinks he’s being incredibly original.

“Can I have coffee?” he tries, whining a bit.

“No.”

“Alex, I feel like shit.”

Alex blinks down at him from where they’re sitting against the wall, still with that look that Dan doesn’t know what to do with. “Yeah, babe, you slept with your best mate for shits and giggles like ten hours ago. You want water?”

“You’re my best mate.”

“Your other one, then, dummy. Water?”

Dan decides he’s tired of that face. He rolls onto his side, facing away from Alex. His feet end up tangled in the blanket, but – never mind. He can’t figure out how to kick them free.

“Drop a piano on my head,” he says. “Please.”

Alex snorts. “I’m not doing that. D’you want to talk?”

“Nope.”

“Wasn’t a question, anyways. Danny, love, like – what the hell? Actually. Come on.”

“What d’you want?”

Alex’s face crumples into frustration right as Dan looks back at them, sticking there like they don’t care that Dan can see how annoying he’s being, written plain across their expression. “I want to know what the fuck you were thinking.”

Dan winces. He’s itchy all over all of a sudden, squirmy and feral like he was – before he did the thing that was supposed to clear that feeling out. He can’t understand why it’s sticking around, now. 

“I wanna shed my skin like a snake,” he blurts, yanking ferociously at the blanket again, flopping onto his back so he can glare up at Alex. Alex looks away, anyways, tipping their head back.

“What on god’s fucking blue earth,” Alex mutters at the ceiling.

“It’s green.”

“Sure. Great. What were you _thinking,_ Danny?”

He eyes Alex, squinting a bit. Mostly he can only see their knee, the one that’s looming closest to his face. They have a cup of coffee in their hands, and he vaguely thinks that they’ve been up for a while. 

There’s a certain set to the way Alex is sitting that – Dan gets it. He does understand it, abrupt and completely certain. He’s being fucking unredeemable, digging his feet in when he needs to be moving forward, lashing out with no warning whenever the buzzing in his fingers gets to be too much. 

Alex knows better than anyone that he doesn’t _want_ to think, doesn’t want to see what he’ll find inside of himself.

Something clutches at his chest.

“Is he okay?”

“Phil?”

“Did you text him?”

He can’t really see their face, but Alex takes a breath, going silent for a minute like Dan’s poking at something that’s too delicate for him to be allowed to handle.

“He’s having a hard time,” Alex says, careful and uncertain. Dan’s not used to that wobble in their voice. “That wasn’t – uh. Great for him, love.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, meek. It feels like the fight is rushing out of him, just a tide going out like any other. Alex’s fingers land in the curls over his forehead, idly tugging at a spiral even though they’re still not quite looking at him.

“I know you’re – trying, in your own way, Danny. And I know you didn’t really mean to. But – it’s just. He really trusted you.”

Dan doesn’t really know what to say to that. _I trusted him enough to let him see that part of me_ bounces to the front of his brain, barging into his throat, but he shoves it away before it escapes. 

“Can I talk to him?”

Alex’s face tips back into view, eyebrows pulled together. “Fucking wish I could stop you.”

Dan swallows. “If you don’t think I should, like – I won’t. You know better.”

Something flashes across their face that he thinks is probably _you’ve never ever behaved yourself for a single second before,_ but Dan doesn’t say anything and they give him a quizzical smile, after a second.

“Would you actually?”

“Yeah,” he says. He fucking hates following directions, god knows, but – he hates how this feels, too. “I mean, wait. Forever? Just no more Phil? What’s the contract?”

“Can you give him like – a few days?”

\--

It lasts exactly four and a half days. Alex mentions something vague about Phil maybe being free at that hour, and Dan clutches onto it like it’s a real deadline, puts the exact minute he’s allowed to text Phil in his calendar app and everything.

He feels like he’s a child who’s been told to sit in timeout and think about what he did, but just – eternally. Just sitting there, staring at what he’s done until he’s allowed to leave.

“I feel like a toddler in timeout and I’m meant to think about what I did, but it’s going to last forever.”

“It’s three more days,” Alex says.

“That’s a very long time.”

“It’s not.”

“To think about my behavior? I don’t even – three _seconds_ with this Dan Howell bitch is too long for me.”

Alex snorts, but they’re already distracted, chipping uselessly at an ice cream stain that’s been left on the couch. They should probably figure out how to put a couch into a washing machine, one of these days.

“Adulthood is just doing stuff and then having to sit there and think about the consequences of your actions, Danny,” Alex says after a minute. “Forever.”

Dan groans, flopping back against his half of the couch. Normally he’d complain and crack a joke about that idea, but he’s already been lectured for ages about _feelings_ and _responsibility_ and a bunch of other annoying shit that’s definitely true. It very much made him feel like a proper child, desperately in need of a parent, even though he’s got two of those already and shouldn’t need a step-Alex in the mix.

_I just don’t understand how you didn’t think there’d be consequences,_ Alex had grumbled at him only a few hours ago. He’s still itchy with it, frustrated with how much he thinks it’s true, and also how much he doesn’t understand where he was meant to go right instead of left.

\--

“Did you want tea?” he says. It feels like a bit of a useless patch for the situation, but Phil nods anyways. Dan puts the kettle on and hovers over it while it warms, hoping that Phil doesn’t think he’s avoiding him, cowering in the kitchen like he is while Phil’s standing ten feet away in the lounge. He isn’t. Not really. He was so fucking desparate to see Phil, a minute ago, and now that he’s here he’s all out of sorts.

He leaves the mugs on the little table by the couch and then darts off again, even though he can feel Phil watching him. He grabs the sketchy duvet from his bed and tows it back to the lounge. 

“This is for you,” he says quietly, depositing it in a haphazard bundle next to where Phil’s finally sat cross-legged on the couch, still watching him with those big doe eyes. Phil gives him an awkward smile and takes it.

Dan flops down, tugging at the thin blanket they leave on the couch until it’s arranged over his shoulders. 

“We’re supposed to talk,” he says. 

“Supposed to?”

Dan hesitates. He doesn’t want to – bare his honest soul, or whatever, any more than he ever does. He takes a breath, trying to steady his nerves into something manageable. 

“I want to,” he says. He really does.

“Okay.”

Phil’s quiet, for a minute. He fusses idly at the duvet, trying to flatten out the bent corner even though Dan’s pretty sure he already knows that it’s no real use. His fingers flutter against the couch, for a moment. He takes a sip of his tea. 

Dan’s left to bury himself into his pointless blanket, heart pounding like it’s trying to set itself free.

“Um,” Dan starts, when it’s gone a moment too long. He doesn’t actually know what he’ll say, but it seems like maybe Phil has forgotten that he exists.

“I feel like you just wanted to sleep with me to get your energy out,” Phil says, before Dan can get any farther. “Like you just picked me at random or something.”

It’s too quick. It sounds like he practiced it, or – like Alex explained the whole situation to him, and Phil’s a million steps ahead already. Maybe both.

Dan winces, knocked off center again. It’s not like it’s entirely untrue. He trusts Phil, and he thinks he genuinely likes him, but it’s not like he doesn’t have a long and colorful history of doing exactly that to whatever vaguely trustworthy person would have him. It hasn’t usually had a whole lot to do with whether they _liked_ him, and even less with whether he likes them. 

“Kind of,” Dan mumbles, after a beat.

“I just felt like you wanted to use me because I was a warm body. I’ve – been used like that enough, Dan. I’m really tired of it.”

He wants to ask other things, but he doesn’t really know where Phil’s coming from in the first place. He’d thought that he was uniquely fucked up, but Phil’s talking like he’s been going through this for longer than Dan’s been alive. 

“It’s happened before?”

“Only all of uni,” Phil says, drily. 

“I’m sorry. Seriously. You’re really lo –”

“Fucking stop,” Phil interrupts. 

“You are,” Dan protests. “I just – I thought that’s what you wanted. That’s what you said.”

Phil sighs. Dan frowns at him. He’s so fucking stoic, and now that Dan thinks, that _was_ the last thing Phil had said about the whole relationship idea. 

“I was being a little melodramatic.”

“Okay,” Dan says.

Phil goes quiet again, for a minute. 

“This is lame,” he starts. “But I really – I wasn’t fucking joking about the boyfriend and the flat and the dog. I just – I’m tired of just being the one people sleep with because I’m convenient and I don’t – ask too many questions, I guess. I don’t want to be celibate my whole life just because I’m holding out, but it’s – I’m tired of being convenient. I’m really tired of it.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Well, great, Dan, it still feels like that.” 

Dan twists his hands in his lap. There’s some errant frustration coursing through him, but he stares at the pained look on Phil’s face. He tries to see the situation without the clouds that are hovering around him. He tries to deal with the full weight of Phil’s frustration, which is – crushing, really, as soon as he lets himself see it. 

He’s fucking awful at dealing with people who are frustrated with him.

“I don’t know if I can be that person for you, Phil. Not because you’re not – super great, y’know. Not because you don’t deserve that. I’m just – I’m really…”

He trails off, watching Phil’s eyes. Something courses across them that Dan can’t quite pinpoint. _You don’t actually think that,_ his brain offers in a voice that sounds a little bit like Phil. _You just don’t think I’m good enough._

He doesn’t want Phil to walk away and still believe that. He feels so fucking young and stupid and clumsy in this moment, but he hasn’t wanted anything this much in a long time.

“Alex says I talk a lot but I’m shit at it,” he says quietly, looking away. He just needs a break from the way Phil’s looking at him, that steady intensity that’s about to send him spinning if he looks at it too hard. He hopes Phil gets it anyways.

“My brother says I don’t talk and I’m bad at it.”

Dan flicks his eyes up. Phil’s giving him a wry smile. He’s still there. 

“I’m scared all the time,” Dan manages. “I don’t – know when that’s going to stop. I don’t know if it’s ever going to stop, and if you want – like, a husband and a wedding, then you’d need people to be there, and if you got a dog then we’d want to post about it, but my nana’s on Twitter and she’s too smart, and I’d worry all the time, and – I just don’t think I’m what you want. It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’d have to be – like, a completely different person first. All of this is just temporary.”

“I hear you,” Phil says. He’s quiet, again. It’s like he closes off, shuts some door inside of himself and then that’s it. Dan doesn’t understand that at all, but he’s trying to – see the hurt behind that reaction, at least. He can do that much for Phil.

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.” 

Dan can’t figure out if it really is okay. He doesn’t know – what Phil really expected. He knows now what Phil wants, generally, but he doesn’t know what he expected from Dan, specifically. 

“Have you just been waiting for me to say yes? Like, this whole time?”

Phil shakes his head, quick. Dan doesn’t really know if he can trust that, but – he wants to. 

“I love being friends with you,” Phil says. “Really, I do. I just – can’t take the back and forth, Dan. I didn’t think it was going to be like that, and you didn’t say anything to me or to Alex about feeling bad, if that’s what that was, and I just – we can’t do that again. I want to be around and be mates with you, but not if it’s going to be like that.”

Dan nods, a little. He thinks he sees Phil relax, shoulders sagging in that off-kilter way they do. He stares at Phil’s soft t-shirt when he can’t keep looking him in the eyes. The seam’s crumpled, all askew like Phil smushed it funny or left it sitting unfolded in the clean laundry pile for too long. It does sound like something he’d do. Dan tries to ignore the way his heart stutters at that stupid little thought.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

Phil’s still giving him that silent worried look when he looks back up from the shirt. It’s like there’s a question in there, still, but he doesn’t think Phil’s going to elaborate, even if Dan asks. Dan tangles his fingers together. He untangles them again. He runs his fingers through the curls falling over his forehead, shoving at them uselessly with a grimace. 

“I just don’t want to drag you along with me,” he blurts, studying a speck of fluff that’s drifting across the floor. “Like, if we dated or something.”

“Is that what you think?”

Dan – wants to laugh. Phil sounds like his therapist or something, asking nonsense questions that make Dan reveal things to him and don’t indicate anything at all about what Phil thinks.

“It does, yeah. Feels like you’d get stuck living with a big dumbass for the rest of your life.”

“I’m already stuck with that,” Phil blurts. His eyes widen like he’s surprised himself. Dan laughs, rolling his eyes halfheartedly. Phil presses his lips together like he’s properly worried, but there’s a little glint in his expression, like something’s been knocked loose a bit.

“I don’t want you to deal with that,” Dan says, since it’s fucking honesty hour. “Like, it’s just – I don’t want you to have someone dependent on you that’s dragging you back forever, and I’m like that a lot, Phil.”

Phil shrugs. “Sometimes we just need people.”

That rattles around in his brain for a second. He frowns, face scrunching in distaste. 

“You sound like a therapist or something,” he says, with a bit of a whine pulling at the edges.

“What?”

“Sometimes we just need people?” he parrots, doing a weird voice. “Seriously?”

Phil’s face quirks funny for a second, like – they’ve had some terrible disagreement. Then it widens into a smile that makes Dan’s heart hurt a little bit. He doesn’t know what he’s done to earn it, but he really wants to keep seeing that.

“You said that to me,” Phil says, comically exasperated. 

“Did I?”

“Yeah? I thought that was your thing this whole time? You gave me a big speech about it at the coffee shop.”

“Sometimes I say stupid shite,” Dan says. “God, that sounds like something you’d read on a popsicle stick for depressed people who – like, don’t like jokes. Fuck. That’s pretty terrible. I mean, it’s true, I guess, but fuck that’s properly cheesy, that’s so awful, I can’t –”

“You’re ridiculous,” Phil interrupts. Dan snaps out of his talking mode. He catches the soft worry that’s still hanging on Phil’s face, pulling at it even when he’s smiling. He doesn’t really know what to say to the question it’s asking him. 

“Can I think about it?”

“About whether you’re ridiculous?”

“No, no – dickbag – no, the other thing.”

Something softens in Phil’s expression. 

“You don’t have to,” he says. “It’s fine, Dan. I don’t need any of that from you.”

Dan nods, twisting his fingers together, pinching the tip of his thumb tight between his fingers until he can confirm that it’s still attached to the rest of him. “Yeah. Okay. I get it.”

Phil falls quiet for a while. He’s fidgeting, fussing at his clothes and his hair and poking at a weird bit of stitching on the couch cushion that Dan hasn’t even really noticed before. Dan wants to distract himself with something, too, but it feels like it would be rude to pull out his phone when Phil’s sitting right there. He tugs at the cuff of his sweats, instead, picking at a loose bit of fuzz.

“Can I ask you something?” Phil says. 

Dan doesn’t think he actually wants to know what Phil’s going to ask, but – he’s meant to be honest, or whatever. Phil has his golden ticket to Dan’s extremely stupid Wonka Factory, where they just make emotional sincerity instead of candy. 

“I guess,” Dan mumbles. 

“Has that happened before?”

Half of his mind is stuck on wondering whether there’d be a scary boat ride in the sincerity factory. “What?”

“You just, like – I don’t know. You disappeared for a while, that night.” 

Dan shrugs, rolling his head to the side. He desperately wants to pull out his phone and open Twitter and read some bullshit thread about a thing someone’s cat did.

It’s just – he knows when he’s being reckless. He never wants to stare it in the face, but he’s been damn good about saving the episodes for later, walking right up to the edge of panic, sometimes, and then stumbling home and crumpling in his own room where no one else has to deal with it. He doesn’t really know why he let Phil see that, but – he did. He figures that must mean something.

“Sometimes. Like, after.”

“Oh.”

“I clogged Callum’s toilet once,” he blurts. “Just, like – had a fit on the tile and threw up and then it wouldn’t flush and there’s all the – you know, the plunger noises.” He can’t remember if he even told Alex that detail. Phil’s giving him a startled look when he looks up. Dan’s remembering that that story sounds fucking pathetic and weird, even in his own head. He doesn’t know what the hell Phil’s going to say to that.

“And you still went back?”

“What?”

“I think I would’ve moved to another planet,” Phil says solemnly. “Instead of sleeping with him again. That’s like eighth base, isn’t it.”

Dan blinks at him. A laugh bubbles out of his chest, too loud. Phil grins, looking a bit startled.

“Eighth base is when you touch his toilet plunger,” Dan squeaks out between laughs. It just makes Phil grin harder. His tongue pokes out a bit between his teeth.

“That’s the ranking I learned on _my_ playground,” Phil protests, but he’s laughing a bit too. It jars something loose in Dan’s chest, just to see him giggling at a nonsense joke again. 

“We’re going to have a talk about your uni sex life, some day,” he says when he’s calmed down a little. “I have some serious questions about what you did with all those boys.”


	18. Chapter 18

“Phil! Did you want to try the pumpkin pie one? We got it back.”

Phil startles like he’s surprised to see Ellie there, but he smiles anyways, wide-eyed like a baby deer. 

“Isn’t that from last year?” he asks. Ellie just shrugs, busily scooping out a spoonful that’s way bigger than regulation. She gives it to Phil with a grin. 

“Just trying to bribe you to my side,” she says. “You want the usual too?”

“Um, sure.” Phil’s studying the pumpkin like it’s a rare specimen, taking careful little licks like he knows Ellie’s still going to ask for a detailed review, even if the flavor is already at least a year old. 

Dan turns away, busying himself with – finding the cups that go by the little water dispenser. That seems important, even if there’s half a stack still available. Anyways. It shows initiative. Or – something.

“Can you ring Phil up, Danny?” 

Dan jolts, turning back to the cash register that he was meant to be at so quickly that he tangles his feet together and almost keels over. Phil’s smiling when he looks up. Dan tightens his grip on the counter edge that just narrowly saved him from death and maybe also embarrassment. 

“Are you clumsy?” Phil asks, like he doesn’t know by now.

“Definitely not,” Dan answers, too quick. “How are you, is everything good?”

Phil’s handing him his card already. The pumpkin spoonful is long gone, and he’s just got the usual, which Dan’s punched into the register before he can really think. 

A part of him just wants to stall, for some reason. He hasn’t seen Phil in ages, or at least – ages by Phil standards, which is about five days. It’s pathetic to miss anyone that quickly, but he’d really started thinking that Phil would have grey hair or something by the time they saw each other again. 

“Oh, yeah, you know,” Phil says, vague. “Just covered in fonts.”

Dan feels his big customer service smile fold into something a bit more quizzical, a bit softer. He nods.

“Sure, yeah,” he says, like he gets it. He doesn’t, but Phil doesn’t seem to mind.

\--

It’s ages before they see each other again. He gets one report on Phil from Alex, after a Wednesday afternoon shift that Dan has off, and then that’s it for a while. 

He sort of knows that people don’t have to see each other every bloody day _and_ work side by side _and_ sleep in the same bed to count as pals, but – there was a part of him that just thought that those were the qualifications for their version of friendship. He shouldn’t feel as half as put out as he does, but he can’t quite stop. 

He only sees Phil on weekends, now. He’s lovely, when he does come in. He’s still everyone’s favorite, just with how polite he is if nothing else, and how much he genuinely loves ice cream and puts up with Ellie’s weird tests and – . And – other reasons, in Dan’s case. It’s not a big deal.

Phil only slips up once. He comes in on a Thursday night shift that Dan picks up, after Ellie’s kid falls ill with some mysterious child-disease that Dan’s never heard of. The temperature is dropping every week, and Phil’s bundled in a worn looking coat and wearing an absolutely absurd little knit hat that’s got beads of rain sticking to it, glittering under the shop lights. 

Phil startles when he sees Dan. They’re alone in the shop, and it’s – maybe the first time they’ve been alone together in a long time. 

He didn’t think Phil was avoiding him, until that moment.

“That’s – uh, your hat, like – it’s sick,” Dan says, stumbling. 

“Thanks?” Phil says, turning up at the end like it’s a question. Dan busies himself with making the perfect cone out of the hazelnut stracciatella. It takes him ages; his fingers are suddenly so clumsy.

“Okay?” he asks when he holds it out. It’s mediocre, at least, sort of wonky on one side but mostly passable.

“Okay,” Phil agrees.

\--

“ – forty-three,” Dan finishes. “Um. We haven’t got that much, do we?”

He doesn’t particularly want to ask what’s going on there, but he needs to find out, eventually.

“Put the jam back then,” Alex says, already taking the offending item out of the basket and shoving it into his hands.

\--

“Phil’s home,” Alex announces, shoving the door closed behind the two of them and trying to kick their shoes off and dump a bag of groceries on the counter and shrug out of their jacket, all at once.

Dan looks up from where he’s blearily staring at Guild Wars. He’s been trying to figure out if the quest he’s meant to go on is actually worth it, googling shit and reading threads and generally not even getting a video game task done. Alex hadn’t said anything about bringing Phil home with them after work, but – they’re friends too. It’s probably not any of Dan’s business. 

Phil’s standing in their little entry, toeing his shoes off and putting them haphazardly in their usual spot. They’re all crooked. Dan has half a mind to go over there and line them up.

It feels like he still lives here, for a moment. It’s just the way he pauses, awkwardly hovering by the shoes – that’s the only thing that makes Dan remember. 

_He just wants boundaries,_ Alex had said one night, when Dan was particularly needy. _That’s normal, you know._

Dan swallows. He turns back to the screen.

Alex finally returns to rescue Phil, ushering him towards the couch like he doesn’t know where it is, bickering with Dan until he turns off Guild Wars and sets up Mario Kart, muttering _we have a guest_ in that exasperated voice.

They play Mario Kart until Phil gets a bit too jumpy from Dan’s shrieking. It doesn’t last long, barely a couple of rounds before Alex is chiding Dan half-gently and swatting him with a pillow at every turn. 

“Zoo Tycoon?” Dan asks, already going to set it up. He thinks he sees Phil nod in his periphery. He doesn’t protest, anyways.

“I literally never thought I’d see you voluntarily look at a digital elephant,” Alex says. “Without crying your fucking face off first.”

Dan flips them off. He grins when Phil giggles, settles himself into the crease in the couch. 

It’s all familiar again. The screen reloads on a scene that’s a shock to the system, for a second. It’s disorienting to Dan, how right it all feels, even though the last time they played was a lifetime ago. The little wolf family they had bickered about naming for so long is standing in the same spot they’d left them, in the pen with the zookeeper that Phil had once pronounced _deeply sexual_ and then followed around with the tracking thing for ten minutes, narrating his every move. 

Dan – doesn’t want to send himself down the path of thinking about that.

He hands Phil the controller. 

“Phil, are you staying for dinner?” Alex asks. Dan’s too focused on watching Phil brandish a carrot at a red panda. He gave up on correcting what food Phil gives to who a long time ago. Phil seems cheerfully oblivious, as always, whispering _eat it you horrible teen_ under his breath like that will help.

“Oh, I’m okay, thanks,” Phil says. “I have to go home in a bit, it’s Thursday.”

He looks vaguely sorry. Not like he would stay, but maybe he’s – a little bit fond of this place. Maybe he sees some of what Dan sees in this moment. Something in Dan’s ribs squeezes tight.

\--

“Follow me on this,” Alex is saying. “You know how Phil’s got a brother?”

“Uh. Sure.”

“And then his brother has the hot girlfriend.”

“Right,” Dan says, slowly. He’s already feeling a bit lost.

“Anyways, so she’s friends with one of Sky’s cousin’s best mates, so we’re all going – ”

“Sky?”

Alex gives him an exasperated look. Dan doesn’t think it’s his fault that he doesn’t keep up with their neverending social life, but apparently he’s supposed to put the puzzle pieces together anyways.

“You haven’t met Sky,” Alex says, patient. “It’s fine, that doesn’t matter. My point is what we’re going out with the lot, and then you, me, Sky, Phil, Phil’s brother, hot girlfriend, etcetera. Are you following?”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why?”

“What do you mean _why?_ Did I not explain the part where we’re going out with Sky, who I am in love with, and also Phil’s brother’s hot girlfriend? Who’s way cooler than us?”

“You’re in love? Hang on. No, I’m doing something with – on the – um. The Guild Wars thing. With the people.”

“You’re going to do something on the um Guild Wars thing with the people?” Alex repeats back to him. They look – increasingly expectant, like he’s an idiot child who doesn’t understand anything and has to be walked slowly through the logical steps of the situation. It’s not _not_ true.

“No,” he agrees, slowly. “Maybe not.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Tonight?”

“It’s fully Saturday.”

Dan glances down at the raggedy pajama pants and slippers he’s wearing, the weird wrinkled Pokemon t-shirt that he must’ve grabbed out of the mostly-not-dirty pile last night. Part of him wants to just wear the whole kit on the tube and show up and say it’s some sort of ironic pajama-centric protest, but –

“You look like you got out of a dumpster,” Alex informs him. “Like, recently. The last thirty minutes.”

Dan groans, pulling a face and idly poking at the cracked edge of the screenprint on the shirt. “Make me look pretty instead of being mean to me.”

\--

He ends up wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt, again, only they both agree that it might be a slightly different black jeans and black t-shirt than last time. Then they agree that he looks like Steve Jobs. After that, they agree that Steve Jobs was an arsehole, and not a style icon, but that Dan is stealing his outfit and making it into a shitty broke _youth’s_ version because he’s a man of the people. Or something. 

It works pretty well as far as pep talks go. Mostly he just likes the part where Alex starts laughing and shoving at him when he brings up Karl Marx for the fifth time. 

Alex drags him to their stuff box, once it’s clear that Dan’s actual wardrobe isn’t going to contribute much.

“Pick something,” they say. 

Dan’s used to being impulsive in the rest of his life, but this is one of those things that he tends to hang back on. Alex usually picks, shoves something into his hands and doesn’t take arguments. 

He pokes at ii for a moment, carefully shuffling the little bits of metal around with an incongruously huge fingertip. 

“This one?” he finally says, uncertain. 

It’s a long earring thing that he thinks will trail up his ear, if he remembers right, with big spiky looking crystals. It’s a little bit – gaudy, he thinks, a bit _much,_ but he wants to like it. 

It feels weird to slip out the little sleeper hoop that he’s kept in his left ear for months. It’s like they’ve become part of him, so small and uninteresting that they never catch his attention. He almost loses his cool and pops the earring pinned between his fingers back in, but he catches a little smile on Alex’s face.

“What?”

“It’s kinda brave,” they say. “In a good way.”

Dan swallows. He drops the hoop in Alex’s tray and fiddles with the new earring, pinching with clumsy fingers until it’s sitting correctly against his ear. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Danny. C’mon.”

\--

It’s cool. The place is cool, Dan is pretty sure. 

There’s brick and concrete and those silver pipe things that might not be carrying anything. He thinks it’s one of those things that properly cool people have set up, not just a posh idiot paying for what a designer said would make it look like a cool place. The wallpaper is too weird to be that contrived, he decides.

Alex is practically bouncing by the time they actually get in, which probably helps that decision.

Phil’s there already, with his too-mellow brother. Martyn looks like he’s in his own living room or something. He looks – entirely casual, like this is just a Tuesday night and he’s about to make burgers or something. Vegetarian burgers, probably, from the looks of him. Dan supposes it’s easy to look that way when you’re already old and settled down, like he is. He doesn’t look like he’s really searching for anything, doesn’t have that edge of nervousness about him.

Phil – Phil is the opposite, but then he looks anxious as fuck just sitting in their apartment, most of the time. 

Cornelia’s nudging at Phil as soon as she spots Dan. He leans down to let her talk into his ear, stooping so far and leaning to meet her so quickly that Dan is briefly tempted to dive and save him from tipping over. 

Alex beelines off to go talk to someone. The vague pat that lands on Dan’s arm as they leave makes him think that they don’t really need his company. Charlie’s there, closer to the bar, but he’s talking in a little group with Callum and Short Jamie, and Dan’s not even kind of tempted to venture into that situation. 

That just leaves him with Phil and his little mob, which – he feels weird about. He feels weird about barging in when Alex had made such a big fuss about how cool Cornelia is. He feels weird about the fact that it would feel like barging in, even though he and Phil are meant to be friends, still. He feels weird about how everything’s slipped sideways.

“Dan, right?” Cornelia says, once he’s crept his way over, making a big stupid show of looking around and acting like he just happened to walk in that direction, like he’s got any other friends. She’s got a big friendly smile. Dan tries to match it, tries to remember how to do that kiddy theatre smile that’s all presentation and willpower.

“Yeah,” he and Phil say at the same time. Phil smiles a bit, sheepish.

“Phil’s talked a lot about you. He said you played the piano?”

He hardly even remembers saying that to Phil, can’t remember any of the context around it at all. It’s not what he thought Phil would have said to them. He glances at Phil, but he’s busy looking – everywhere, at everything at once. It’s no use.

“Oh, just, like, one of those dinky keyboards. For kids. I only took a few real lessons.”

Cornelia smiles, anyways, like she thinks that still counts somehow. She turns and asks Martyn something, and then Dan’s being herded towards the bar, all of them chattering around him about what they’re going to get and what he would probably like. It’s not like he can’t order for himself, but – he’d probably get a beer or something equally shit.

He ends up with a bizarre looking pink thing that apparently Phil and Cornelia both like. 

Cornelia’s – determined to draw him out, he realizes. Phil’s disappeared already, and Alex is gone, and he has no idea at all where any of Alex’s mates are anymore. His skin prickles with that weird itchiness of just – being trapped with someone who thinks he’s worth talking to when they don’t even know him, don’t know how awkward and young and mostly stupid he can be. He feels like he’s a trap, sometimes.

She’s lovely, anyways. It’s not her fault. He tries to keep up with the conversation, even though she and Martyn talk a lot about places that they’ve travelled to that Dan’s never going to see, or about restaurants he can’t afford. Martyn drifts off after a while to see a friend who works behind the bar, and she ends up telling him about cinnamon rolls and lingonberry ice cream. Dan manages to smile, then. 

“Phil would like that,” he says, without really thinking. She gives him a smile that feels a bit too meaningful.

“He does.”

Dan – doesn’t know what he’s allowed to say, then. He falls awkwardly silent, pulling a face that he hopes communicates – something. _Yikes,_ maybe. _I got too attached to living with your brother in law and now I’m a sad dope over the fact that he’s gone to live in his own house,_ probably.

Cornelia leaves, after another minute. She doesn’t make it awkward, or obvious that it’s because Dan ran out of conversation topics he actually has anything useful to say about a million years ago. She flashes him an easy grin, instead, saying that she’s got to go say hi to someone she’s worked with before. He supposes it’s easy to get away, in places like this, when you already know nearly everyone. 

He tries wandering towards where he thinks Charlie was, ages ago. He spots Short Jamie’s stupid hat and tries following that for a while, but the lights are going and he keeps losing track of where they’ve gone. 

_Submarine periscope ass dick,_ his brain offers, about the fifth time he realizes that he’s still looming around over the crowd, following a man in a hat that only looks red when the red strobe hits him, and not Short Jamie, who’s actually wearing a red hat.

Someone bumps into him, clinging to his arm for a moment. 

Dan stiffens before he can think. It’s not like – it would be a problem, really. He could do to get laid. It’s not even a big deal if he picks up here. It’s just the flash of nerves, wavering wildly between _it’d be good for you_ and _you’re an incorrigible idiot_ that would stop him. Maybe he just – needs to get past that. He files it away as something to ask Alex about.

“Mate –” he starts.

“I’m weird,” Phil announces. Dan blinks down at him, where Phil’s tucked almost his whole head in between his shoulders like he’s actually trying to become a turtle. His hands are screwed tight in Dan’s shirt, tugging a bit at the fabric and probably stretching out his only sort-of-cool shirt.

“You’re a turtle,” Dan blurts. Phil looks up at him with a pout. He smells like beer and weird fruits and – falafel, Dan thinks. 

“You’re pretty weird,” Phil says. 

_“You’re_ weird.”

“Yeah.” Phil sounds glum again all of a sudden.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Philip, come on. Why are you hiding with me, your –” Dan stumbles to a stop halfway through the sentence. He hopes Phil doesn’t notice. Phil’s still occupied with his sulking, anyways.

“I just said something to Lids and Charlie and now they think I’m a big freak.”

“You weren’t rude, were you?” He can’t imagine Phil being rude on purpose, but – he knows Alex’s group of friends isn’t entirely easy to predict. Phil’s not especially good at predicting things, either. Sometimes he gets surprised by walls and tables and stuff, which don’t even move, so it’s not fair to expect him to predict people. People can _walk_ places. 

He really – likes that about Phil, he thinks. Dan doesn’t think he’s really ever seen him be rude just for the sake of it. He tries so fucking hard all the time to be nice.

“No,” Phil says. “I just said I believe in witches. That’s normal. I’m from the North. I thought they would be into witches, Lids seems like – ”

“A witch-loving type person,” Dan offers. Lids does absolutely have a fucking crystal in the shape of a bat hanging off of a necklace. He’s seen it. Phil isn’t even a little bit wrong. Dan likes Lids the best out of all of Alex’s friends, but he doesn’t think it’s fair to Phil to be annoyed about that.

“Yeah. How was I supposed to know?”

Phil gets bumped even closer to Dan by some guy who’s rushing to the little workplace-safety-offence looking stage with a Victorian lamp shade. Phil’s all loose limbed, like some kind of weird huge ragdoll boy, even though he’s trying to keep his sloppy fingers gripped in Dan’s shirt. He trips into Dan’s space too easily, and then almost falls again, just from trying to back up a step. Dan wants to laugh, for a second. He probably would if it was someone else, but Phil looks up at him with a sheepish quirk to his lips, all sleepy and fragile and kind and Dan – can’t do it, he decides.

“This is my only shirt,” Dan mumbles, too quiet for the bar, trying to gently pry his fingers out. 

“That makes sense,” Phil mumbles back. 

Dan rolls his eyes and tries to untangle his thumb, without making it too obvious that he’s trying to untangle Phil’s thumb. He doesn’t want Phil to leave. He doesn’t want Phil to get that idea, that he’s pushing him away. He doesn’t want to lose him back into the crowd. 

Phil begrudgingly loosens his grip after some wrestling, but it’s like – Dan doesn’t think he’s _imagining_ that he just sways closer, like he needs something. 

Dan’s warm all over, packed against people on all sides. It takes a moment to sort out, but there’s a familiar weight against his chest, one that he would know anywhere just by the goofy way it’s moving, bumping into him and clinging and erratic and also very much smelling of falafel balls, and still – just settling something warm and good into his ribs. It’s like he can breathe for a minute, as long as they stay like this.

“You wanna go hide in the big freak corner with me?”

“Mm. Where’s that?”

Dan thinks. He watches the Victorian lampshade man try to climb onto a chair. “It’s over there,” he says, gesturing vaguely in a direction Phil isn’t even bothering to look. “Let’s go watch this man’s lamp dance.”


	19. Chapter 19

Getting drunk and watching a man dance with a lamp doesn’t change anything.

Dan doesn’t know why he had thought it would change anything. He only vaguely remembers laying in bed alone, afterwards, tugging his blanket close and thinking _that was good_ to himself in one of those brief flashes of clarity.

Now it’s – it wasn’t anything. He feels a bit off-kilter again, like something’s slipped sideways and he hasn’t moved with it.

“Is this funny?” he demands, shoving his phone under Alex’s nose. They stare down at the text he’s re-written eighteen times, pausing for long enough that Dan starts to get a bit squirmy.

“Sure,” they say.

“Really?”

“I mean, how funny do you want to be?”

“Super funny.”

“It’s just Phil, Danny, he doesn’t bite.”

_Just Phil._ It’s true, and they’re right, but it doesn’t feel true or right. Alex is looking at him like he’s weird.

“He’s not just Phil,” he blurts, whining a bit.

“Oh, really?”

“Should I tell my mum?”

“What?”

“Like – the – you know.” 

Alex’s face is shifting between confusion and concern, and Dan doesn’t like the new expression at all. He turns his shoulders away, trying to look at Alex out of the corner of his eye and focus on the door and fuss around wiping the counter at the same time.

“Do you want to tell your mum?” they say, slowly.

“No.”

“Okay, then.”

“Should I, though?”

“If you don’t want to tell her, I mean – what. Daniel?”

Dan bolts into the office, dropping the towel in the laundry bucket even though it’s hardly dirty. Alex is only a few feet away, still, but it feels like something. Like some kind of space. He takes a big breath and walks back to where he was behind the counter, trying to look – normal. 

“What are you asking?” Alex says, gentler. They’re leaning back, halfway sitting on the counter and crossing their legs at the ankles, rolling one foot sideways into a funny perch.

“I mean, I should, right. Like, I need to be – if I’m going to – with someone? I need to be out, right, so I should tell her. Right?”

He knows his insistent tone doesn’t quite match the jumbled sentences. Alex looks like they’re putting up with him more than anything, trying to follow the maze he’s setting in front of them.

“We’ve had this conversation,” Alex says. 

“Right, but for Phil –” Dan starts.

“Yeah?”

Dan stumbles to a stop. He didn’t mean – Phil is just a case study. He’s just an example of one of the many ways that Dan has fucked up, except – it’s not like he did fuck up, really. He followed the rules he’d set better than he ever has. He’s tried to keep Phil safe, and make a real friend, and – all that. He’s just not an example of a romantic relationship, and that’s fine. Dan’s fine with that. It’s not a failure by any means.

He’s not going to make decisions like that so he can date Phil, for god’s sakes.

“For Phil what?” Alex insists, right as the door jingles.

“Nevermind,” Dan says. “Later.”

\--

_are u gonna date philip?????_ Alex texts the moment they walk out the door. That’s not even a little bit what Dan had meant when he’d said they could talk later.

_no and it’s so busy!!!!! go away_

They’re not busy at all, and Alex has just left, and anyways Dan only has to be here for a bit before Sarah gets in, but – 

_no it’s not,_ he gets back immediately. 

He looks up, thinking about what he could reply that would get them to leave him alone. 

Alex is still standing on the other side of the glass with a big stupid smile on their face. They wave wildly, obviously pleased to have caught him. He holds up his phone and makes a big show out of scowling and locking it.

\--

Dan’s fingers are always twitching towards his phone. 

Alex is busy with school again, always mumbling something vague about how they’ve got something due soon. They don’t work together much, after that day. Dan feels a bit bereft. He should probably be more worried about how he’s got his whole social life built around three or four people that he mostly only sees at work.

It’s not weird of him to send Phil a text once in a while. It’s just – he feels a bit odd when he’s sent the fourth one in four hours, and Phil hasn’t really responded more than a :) once when he’d sent a particularly good dog video. 

He opens Twitter, instead. It’s just full of jokes he wants to send to Phil. He closes it.

Instagram’s just full of weird animations he wants to send to Phil, and more dog videos, and a picture of a guy that Dan is immediately irrationally jealous of, just because he’s out there being hot and probably – dating people he really likes, or whatever it is that hot Instagram people get to do. He closes that, too.

\--

“Alright there?” Alex asks, mild. They have their stupid granny-looking reading glasses perched over their nose. Dan knows he shouldn’t judge their disability, or whatever, but they just remind Dan how much he’s never _ever_ going to wear his own stupid ugly granny reading glasses. Dan frowns down at his schedule, tugging his upper lip up at the side into a weird Elvis sneer.

“Sarah gave me Wednesday instead of Saturday.”

“That’s how it was last term, wasn’t it?”

“Sure, but I _like_ working Saturdays.”

Alex gives him a look like he’s grown another head, and another pair of eyebrows on each new face, and he’s turned green on top of that.

Screaming Child Saturday is not anyone’s favorite shift. Saturday is loud, and busy, and relentlessly too much for any of them to deal with. Wednesday is quiet. The Wednesday morning shift is just a sham, and mostly Dan plays on his phone, texts his mum, thinks about stuff. 

The only good thing about Saturday is that Phil comes to visit, but – he can’t say that to Alex.

“Go back to studying you – nerd idiot,” he mutters, frowning at Alex’s grin. He beelines to the kitchen to go look for something to do.

He makes a show of washing about three dishes, and then Alex’s head is bowed back into their books, so he can do whatever he wants. 

_can you come visit wensday,_ he texts.  
 _wedsday_

He peers down at his phone, typing in a few attempts before he gives in to the little red squiggle and clicks to see the correction.

_wednesday :)_

_can i name a wolf wolf howell?_

_no  
i mean ugh that’s bad but i guess so  
no i meant the shop though not my house but you can come to my house too if you want i just really want you to visit the shop weds  
:(_

_?  
ellie snek? cheese ice cream?  
if it’s made with cheese instead of cream is that ice cheese? help_

_nooooo  
sarah gave me weds instead of saturday bc alex and ellie can only really do weekend_

_oh_

_ya  
not to be a huge dork but i only have three friends n if i can’t see you then that’s losing one third of all my friend_

_who’s your third friend?_

Dan looks up, thinking about that one. For some reason saying he has only two friends had felt pathetic, a second ago, even though three isn’t actually that much better. It’s a big percentage jump, he supposes, so statistically it feels like a big difference, because if you’ve only ever had two – or even one, or zero – then obviously three feels like the moon. It’s just that in the grand scheme of things, it’s – hardly anything, really. Three is a blip in the universe.

He catches Alex’s gaze by accident while his eyeballs are wandering the room. He quickly ducks his head, yanking his face back into something that isn’t so obvious.

_my nana,_ he says. 

That’s probably not what most boys his age would say, but – Phil knows him, anyways. He’s probably caught on by now that Dan doesn’t have anything normal to say about anything.

Phil types for a long time, stopping and starting. Dan itches to go do something else, but he also just wants to know if he has something to look forward to on Wednesday. If it’s seeing Phil for five minutes while they complete an ice cream transaction, so be it. That’s still enough for him to build around.

_is that pathetic,_ he types out, sending it back to Phil before Phil answers the original text.  
 _dont say yes bc it’s actually true  
shes my actual best mate you guys are just okay but you cant knit me sweaters so like  
ugh  
phil why cant i delete words after i send them :(_

He watches the typing bubbles for a minute, popping up and dancing and then receding again. 

_you’re adorable,_ Phil says, finally. Dan had thought it would be some sort of screed or something, but that’s alright. He tries to fight down his smile in case Alex is still watching.

\--

It’s ridiculous to say that Dan bounces into work on Wednesday morning, but it’s also mostly true.

\--

_not coming :(  
sorryyyyyy  
i’m dead though_

He frowns down at his phone. It’s not like he’s been waiting, exactly. He’s just been – snapping his head up with a big smile every time the door opens, which is probably just good customer service, really. He gets three preschoolers in a row towards the end, coming home from school and squealing over one of the weird blue flavors that Ellie’s kid likes. 

He’s never entirely figured out how to interact with kids, even after a year here. They don’t seem to mind too much, as long as he puts on a show like ice cream is as big a deal to him as it is to them. One of them orders her cone on her own, even. Dan gives her an extra cookie stick for being so brave.

_oh no not dead,_ he replies. _you okay?_

_mar says it’s a cold but i think i’ve got snakes up my nose_

Dan has to pocket his phone for a minute when yet another tiny child comes in, flailing at the door handle and insisting that they want to do it themselves. He forces himself to tug his Phil-smile into something a bit more normal. 

“I’ve just been to the hops-pital to see a doctor because my knee is no good. Can I have the hazelbutt? A _big_ scoop please,” the kid asks, peering up at Dan from behind the glass, barely able to see him from their height. They hold their hands out wide, indicating a shape that’s about the size of their own head.

“The hazelnut,” their mum corrects. “And a child’s scoop, please.” 

Dan has to bite back a laugh. He files it away as something to tell Phil, and as evidence that toddlers have evolved quite a bit since Adrian was that age. Or that Adrian was just a de-evolved gremlin, like a Neanderthal child who his mum cloned in a lab. He’ll have to think about that later.

_just met you as a toddler  
do you want me to come help pull the snakes out?_ he replies to Phil, as soon as the kid is gone again.

_gross  
nose snakes  
you’ll get sick :(_

_ya and  
i’m bored of this lifestyle i wanna get sick and sit on the couch eating cereal_

_can you?_

Dan gets what Phil’s asking, but – he hasn’t had a meltdown in a minute, and anyways he tends to budget around the fact that he probably will have one. It’s not like the schedule of them is reliable, exactly, but he’s learned to plan around the inevitability that they’re going to happen.

_ya i’m coming to your snake dungeon  
whats your address_

_uhh  
idk  
go past the blue house on the big street with the mean rabbit in the yard and then make a left  
no maybe a right  
we’re in apartment 10 but if you see the old lady with the hair don’t tell her that i live here okay_

_sure okay i’ll see you in ten years once i find you  
if i walk to france based on your directions tell alex i love them_

_\--_

_going to phils walking based on his directions see you NEVER AGAIN probably,_ he texts Alex on what he’s pretty sure is his third lap around the same stupid park.

_i’ll miss you!!! bye forever danny!!  
how are you so loud over text message_

\--

Cornelia lets him in, before beelining back to what is apparently their music studio/bedroom/only-non-bathroom-room. He’s just guessing, based on the muffled jingling and the fact that there’s only one other door in the whole place.

“Hi,” Phil croaks. He’s slumped on his little sofa, which really is comically small, even before accounting for the fact that Phil is about seven feet tall and built of noodles. He looks like shit, pale except where he’s red around his eyes. His laptop is pulled into his lap, but it’s titling haphazardly off one thigh, like it’s given up as much as Phil has. The dazed look he’s giving it doesn’t seem promising.

“Hi,” Dan says. “I just ran a marathon to get here.”

Phil turns his dopey little pout on Dan, squinting up at him from behind his glasses and shoving his bottom lip out like a child. 

Dan melts immediately. Phil’s directions were mostly useless, but he looks so bloody sad that Dan loses whatever interest he had in bickering about it.

“How’s it going?”

“Dead.”

“Oh dear. You want more water?”

“You don’t know where the glasses are.”

“You have like two and a half cupboards, Phil, it can’t be that complicated,” he says, already turning to go riffle through the kitchen.

He feels a bit off kilter, wandering around in this space that is so clearly not his. It’s not like it’s that different from his own cramped apartment. There really isn’t a lot of territory to explore, either. It’s just the tiny little unfamiliarities of not being able to find a cup when Phil needs one, and not being able to drag him into bed and make him sleep somewhere he can actually fit, even though that option feels so close at hand. 

He finds the cups, eventually, and dutifully fills one. 

“D’you have tea?” he says. Phil takes a minute to respond, blinking blearily at his laptop like it doesn’t even register that Dan’s talking.

“No, we’re from space.” 

Dan rolls his eyes, going to poke around in a cupboard he’d opened a second ago that seemed promising. Sure enough, there it is. He turns the kettle on, too, pulling a mostly-empty honey container out and putting it on the counter before he loses track of where it lives.

He wanders back to where Phil is, leaves the cup of water on an awkwardly full side table. Dan’s always a bit afraid of putting things on clean tables, but this one seems to already be storing all of the mail, and some notes with lyrics, and a calendar, and a tiny lego kit of a giraffe, and some coins, and it’s got a sticker of a frog stuck to it for some reason. He has to bump papers out of the way just to find a space where the cup will fit.

“I don’t wanna get you sick,” Phil mumbles. 

Now that Dan’s here and he’s seen how miserable Phil looks, he doesn’t really want to get sick either. His whole cereal couch plan doesn’t seem that promising anymore.

It’s just – there’s still a tinkling sound coming from the other room. It’s only been a few minutes, but Cornelia has disappeared entirely. Dan doesn’t even know if Martyn’s here. They seem like they’re in their own little universe, and Phil’s just sitting out here on the couch, morosely poking at his keyboard with a look like he won’t even like half of the decisions he’s making by the time he sees them again.

“You have to work?” Dan says, settling down a safe distance away.

“Yeah,” Phil croaks. He taps at a few keys again. Dan wants to tell him a million things – about the hazelbutt child, or about the ducks he saw fucking at the park the fourth time he passed by, or the album that came out that he thinks Phil might like if he actually tried to listen to something other than Coldplay. He stays quiet, anyways, trying not to push. He tries to remember that they’re only sort of friends, now, and that Phil doesn’t seem that interested in talking, even if Dan’s got a million thoughts rattling around inside his head.

“How are you doing?” he asks, instead. The answer seems obvious, but – maybe it’s better than just dumping everything out and making Phil deal with it.

“Amazing,” Phil mutters. “Phil the Amazing, basically.”

Dan snickers. “You sound like a magician. Like, one of those amateur ones for kid’s parties. Did anyone actually have that? Who hires those people?”

“I’d be good at the rabbit part,” Phil says, forgetting the other questions. Dan can’t even imagine that, since he’s seen Phil bolt away from a menacing squirrel before. “Not at the holding stuff, though.”

“Having hands would be a problem,” Dan agrees, going to get the whistling kettle. 

It’s nonsensical, but Phil laughs anyways, a sad little huff that turns into a cough.

“You ever just want to leave and become a kids magician?” Phil asks, clutching at the mug when Dan returns with it. 

“No. Wait, yes. Wait. You really want to be a magician? Should I not have made fun of your people?”

“No, like. I don’t know. I just want to do something else. Something stupid. The circus would do.”

Dan’s – he doesn’t want to say that he thinks he’ll work at the shop for the rest of his life. He doesn’t really think that. It’s just that it was a safe place to land, and he fits into it now, and it’s just – hard for him to imagine that he could move on from it. He used to think he was settling for something that wasn’t good enough, but now he can’t quite remember why that was. He doesn’t want to set his sights too high just because he feels a bit strange about not having big lofty goals any more.

“I quit law school to become an ice cream dealer,” he says. “Made a whole disaster out of it.”

He’s pretty sure Alex has already told Phil, or he’s said it himself and has just forgotten about it under the mountain of stuff he told Phil over the months they lived together. 

Phil gives him a sheepish look, anyways.

“Was that a good decision?”

“Um. Probably not, mate. I don’t know.”

“So I shouldn’t join the circus?”

“Well. How much are you crying on your mate’s floor about fonts? If you’re crying a little, probably not. If you’re crying a lot, um, maybe. It’s like a chart. There’s – a whole scheme – schema? Schematic? That thing, for figuring out if the crying is outweighing the – uh. Whatever would happen otherwise. Like, if you weren’t crying. We could draw it out if you want.”

Phil taps idly at the up and down buttons. Dan isn’t entirely sure what he’s trying to do, but he thinks he sees the text creep a few millimeters up the screen and then back down again.

“Can I come cry at yours sometime?” Phil asks. Dan vaguely thinks that it’s a bizarre way to ask to come over, but – it’s kind of wildly genuine, too.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, of course, any time.”

Phil nods, like that’s a normal thing to agree on. He bats at his laptop with clumsy fingers, whacking it shut and shoving at it until Dan rescues it from the edge of the sofa. He has to spin in a circle a few times until he figures out where its charger is dangling from a socket, hidden behind an entire plant.

“Have you ever seen those minimalist instagrams?” he huffs, going to plug it in. When he turns back, Phil has the blanket tugged over his mouth, flopped even deeper into the couch. His eyes are crinkling at the corners, though, and Dan decides that’s progress.


	20. Chapter 20

He finally remembers to write down Phil’s address on Friday. The GPS directions are a bit weird, sending him turning left-and-then-right over and over to take a diagonal path there from the shop. It’s almost enough to make him think that Phil’s stupid method was justified, for a minute – but not longer than a minute. He’s already shaken that thought off by the time he gets there. 

He has to awkwardly juggle the things in his hands while he tries to knock on the door, and ends up mostly whacking at it aimlessly with his elbow. 

Phil takes ages, but he lets Dan in eventually. He’s got his glasses perched over his raw red nose, and a colorful blanket around his shoulders like he’s some kind of bizarre low budget medieval king. 

“Hi,” he manages to say, already retreating to his laptop. His voice somehow sounds worse, settled into a raspy croaking sound like he’s on the edge of losing it entirely.

“Still working?” Dan asks. He wanders into their little kitchen, puts away the now half-melted popsicles he’d made in the back while he was meant to be working. He hopes Martyn doesn’t mind that he’s puttering around the kitchen with no supervision.

“Trying to.”

Phil’s pulled the laptop back into his lap by the time Dan goes to the sofa. He’s glaring at it with his shoulders pulled in defensively like it’s going to attack him or something.

“I’ve got – uh, cough drops, and then soup from that sandwich place? If you’re hungry? I know it’s not really lunch time, but I figured – ”

Phil’s looking up again, studying Dan with an almost curious look. “Really?”

He doesn’t seem – pleased, exactly. Mostly surprised. 

Dan’s suddenly bashful and more than a bit squirmy. He didn’t really think through the fact that it’s a weird time to eat, and that Martyn’s probably home and just being extra quiet, and that Phil’s probably got plans for what he’s going to eat, or he ate a minute ago and he doesn’t need another thing stuffed into their tiny fridge. Dan didn’t even think to text him and ask, while he was out barrelling around town buying his stupid little gifts.

It’s just – he watched Phil eat cereal for dinner, last night, and he’d grumbled a bit about how it was scratching at his throat. Dan had rolled that comment around in his head until he overreacted. He spent way too much money on that one harebrained thought, but that’s not Phil’s fault.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I don’t know, I just thought maybe you’d want soup or something but I guess your brother’s probably cooking and I just sort of barged in and like –”

“Thanks,” Phil says. 

Dan almost doesn’t hear his raspy voice, but his run-on sentence stumbles to a stop. “Of course, yeah. Definitely. Um. I can go, if you’re busy?”

Phil shrugs. 

He looks like he’s about to fall asleep sitting up, now that Dan’s closer. He worries for a moment that Phil’s only letting him stay because he’s too tired to kick him out. 

A part of him thinks he should just leave, just in case.

He could go home and clean his room and dick around on his own laptop, watch that thing he meant to watch. He probably ought to do that. There’s a part of him that doesn’t even really understand the appeal of sitting in someone else’s flat, with this man that doesn’t even like Dan all that much. There’s another part that worries that this isn’t what Phil wanted, when he said he was okay with being friends, and another part that worries that he was lying about wanting to be friends at all. A part of Dan suspects that he’s only standing in Phil’s flat because he barged his way in, not because Phil would’ve wanted him here if he’d had any choice in the matter.

It’s a big part of him, really. He has more fears than anything. 

It’s just – his actual legs are already going back to the kitchen, digging out two bowls and spoons from spots he’s sort of starting to recognize. Phil gives him a sleepy quirk of a smile when he sees Dan coming back, and Dan settles next to him like he’s meant to be there. He tries to give Phil some space, but the sofa isn’t that long.

Phil hums a little pleased sound into his first spoonful. Dan feels like he can exhale for a moment, until he sees how Phil’s eating over his keyboard with no regard for the drops that keep splashing. Dan puts his own bowl on the little table and moves Phil’s laptop to the floor when he makes no sign of moving it himself. He finds himself laughing at Phil’s look of surprise.

“What,” Phil grumbles.

_I just love you,_ Dan’s brain offers. It’s like it pushes its way into his mouth, and he barely manages to seal his lips before it escapes.

“Maniac,” he says instead, when the other thing has stopped rattling its way around. “You’re gonna ruin your laptop.”

Phil shrugs again. Dan steels himself for a spat over whether it’s mental to do that, whether Phil knew what he was doing all along and Dan’s just being paranoid and bossy. Instead he just gets another slow smile, like it’s nothing.

\--

He goes home before it gets too dark. 

It’s already too dark for his tastes, and he hates to leave Phil alone, but – he just can’t stay there. He can’t take advantage of the sleepy little tug at his shirt when he tries to extricate himself from where Phil’s collapsed on top of him, or the little whine that’s softer and raspier than normal, but so fucking familiar from every time he’s woken Phil up by accident when he had to leave for work too early. He can’t stay in Phil’s tiny flat and let him wake up to Dan pressed to his side on the sofa. 

He doesn’t really know what a normal friend is, but – he doesn’t think it’s that, and he said he wouldn’t put Phil in that position again.

\--

Alex has already gone out by the time he gets home from Phil’s. Dan stands in the middle of the lounge for a minute. It’s so empty. He’d walked home early to avoid being scared of the dark, but standing in his barren flat, he doesn’t know if it really helped.

\--

_are you working?_ Phil texts, on Monday morning.

Dan not only isn’t working – he isn’t doing much of anything. He’d played every game he wanted to play on Saturday, and made pasta for dinner without remembering any of the steps involved, and argued with Alex about whether he should have to go out with them. He’d worked Sunday to cover for Ellie, but it was so busy that he’d stayed late, late enough that he’d slept almost as soon as he’d gotten home. 

Now he’s just staring at the ceiling, mostly. The little buzz from his phone is enough to send a shock of adrenaline through him, at the idea of _something_ happening.

_no  
you need more soup?_

_can you come bust me out of here?  
i’m bored  
it’s okay if you don’t want to  
i know you’re busy_

_no yeah of course  
one sec_

He regrets telling Phil that he was busy. He’d brought him soup again on Saturday, and made him tea, and brought him more water. He’d stayed for a bit, dawdling despite Martyn’s vague look of confusion when he’d wandered through the kitchen and found Dan there, busily doing things for his brother that he could have done. Dan was never really needed, but – he’d been itching to check, both mornings, just to look in and make sure that Phil was still okay.

It was only when Phil had started to sag, sleepily leaning into Dan’s side again, that Dan had – bolted, really. 

He’d mumbled some nonsense about being busy. Phil had nodded and gone along with it, and Dan had only felt a bit of a twinge, knowing that he was going to go and sit at home playing Guild Wars and not do anything useful for anyone. 

He just couldn’t deal with being destructive. 

He can deal with this, though. He can deal with the shaking hands and the rattling in his head on his own, he tells himself, patting around for his keys. They’ll go sit on the little balcony if that’s as far as Phil can make it, and it’ll be fine.

The walk is a hell of a lot shorter when he’s not stopping to go to the pharmacy or the sandwich place or work. 

Phil opens the door almost as soon as Dan knocks, like he was hovering in the entry. He’s already got his big jacket on, and a knit hat with a weird furry pom-pom, and an incredibly stubborn look on his face.

“Get me out of here,” he says, stepping out of the door before Dan can even try to come in. His voice is still scratchy, but he seems better, at least, judging by the determined way he’s speedwalking down the hall, down the stairs, out the building without even looking back.

“Did you get shot out of a cannonball?” Dan complains. It’s a little embarrassing how breathless he feels.

“Third wheeling,” Phil says, gloomy. “All fucking weekend.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry? Are they horrible?”

He’s never entirely understood the situation there. Phil always seems to get along with the two of them fine, when he sees them all together, as long as Martyn doesn’t try to get bossy with him. 

Phil makes a little hand wringing gesture, squeezing his hands into fists by his sides and then flattening his palm, wiggling his fingers like they’ve gone stiff. Dan doesn’t know why he notices the motion.

“They’re just – like, they’re in their own world,” Phil says. “They like each other so much.”

Dan kind of gets that, he thinks. He’s never spent much time around couples other than his parents and their friends, but he doesn’t think most people are as wrapped up in talking to each other as Martyn and Cornelia always are. It’s like they move as a package deal, and even if one’s gone you’re sort of aware that you’re only talking to half of them. 

“That sounds lonely,” he says, uncertain if that’s the right thing.

Phil nods, like it is. 

They walk a lot of the way in silence. Dan desperately wants to talk, but Phil still sounds a bit hoarse, and Dan doesn’t want to push it. The things he wants to say are stupid anyways. 

He doesn’t know where they’re going, until they end up at the park with the ducks that Dan’s passed a million times. It all looks a bit – manky, really, pockmarked with little mud patches where the grass has given up. 

Phil’s steps have started to slow, finally. They meander past the pond, until Phil mumbles something about a duck trying to eat a bug and stops conveniently close to a bench. 

“Sit,” Dan says, bumping vaguely against his arm. “We can watch.”

Phil goes along easily, huddling into even more of a slouch than usual, so the collar of his jacket is pushed up against his face. The wind tugs at his hat, flopping the top bit around goofily. 

Dan sits. He tries to be steady, for Phil’s sake. He needs to be quiet and kind and not –

There’s always been something about just _sitting_ with someone else, when he can’t bolt and can’t talk incessantly and can’t zone out into his head and think as many thoughts as he wants, that sends him abruptly spiralling. It’s like he’s claustrophobic and he’s trapped in an elevator. It’s like – the idea of just being patient for once is a catastrophe. The fact that he likes Phil too much for his own good and that they technically have all this space to roam doesn’t help, somehow.

His fingers twitch at the hem of his jumper, tugging aimlessly. The itchy feeling builds under his skin so fast that there’s something pricking at his eyes, and he turns to squint into the wind for a moment, just to have a lame excuse for why he’s shaking and his eyes are tearing up just from sitting on a bench for a few minutes. He tries clenching his jaw and swallowing a few times, but then he’s hit with this brief flash of panic.

This was exactly how it started last time. This was the same feeling that he had before he ruined everything. He shouldn’t give in to the dramatic thoughts that follow, but he just needs Phil to – be prepared, or something. He doesn’t know why he thought he could trust himself to deal with any of it.

“Hey, Phil?” he manages. It comes out soft and high, all funny.

“Yeah?”

“I’m – uh. I’m feeling a bit weird, so if I act weird, it’s not like – it’s not about you, okay?”

He keeps his eyes resolutely on the pavement, but he sees Phil shift a bit, sitting up from where he was slouched against the bench.

“D’you want to go home? I can call Alex,” Phil says. 

It’s not what Dan was expecting. Phil never says what Dan’s expecting, anyways, but he’d thought – Phil would be resigned, or something. He’d expected the frustration he usually gets, the _that doesn’t make any sense_ and the _just calm down._ Instead it’s plain concern. He doesn’t know what to do with that. 

“No, it’s fine,” he says. He can wait it out. He just didn’t want to catch Phil off guard, is all. “The ducks are good, right?”

“They’re freaks,” Phil says, but he doesn’t elaborate. He sounds absolutely resigned to ducks being weird, and the abrupt change makes Dan laugh, even if it’s a bit shaky.

“Is this okay?” Phil asks, when Dan doesn’t say anything. 

Dan’s somehow got himself fixated on the little snails and worms wiggling across the pavement by their feet. He thinks he felt one squish under his feet, earlier, and they smell nasty, and he doesn’t like bugs at all – are they even bugs? He’s not sure. But it’s just – they just have _lives,_ he thinks, some kind of thing that they have to go home to when they’re done venturing into the stupid human world. They have friends, probably. Little bug roommates that need them to make bug pasta, maybe.

“Yeah,” he says, absently, toppling off the bench and crouching to peer at them a bit closer. 

“Slime time?” Phil asks.

“They’re all these little guys,” Dan replies, vaguely awed and mostly nonsensical. Phil doesn’t question it. He doesn’t make a move to join Dan, and Dan doesn’t look up, but he sees Phil’s feet disappear up out of the way when Dan shuffles towards his side of the bench, shifting so he can get a better view.

They smell sort of awful, up close, and he can see the slime tracks glinting a bit.

“Does it make me a bad person if I don’t save the worms?”

“Don’t think so,” Phil mumbles. He sounds sleepy. When Dan looks up for a moment, he’s curled up nearly all the way on the bench, tucked his knees up under his jacket and yanked at the zipper until it’s mostly closed over his legs. It’s sort of impressive, really. 

“You look like a turtle,” Dan tells him, and Phil just hums, eyes blinking closed behind his glasses. 

Dan really can’t leave, now, but he has all the time in the world to hang out with these snails. He plucks one from right under where Phil’s feet were first, just in case, plopping it into the dirt at the side of the pavement. He grabs another from nearby, which it’s probably friends with, and another near that one, since maybe they live in a big shared snail house. He spends a moment wondering if there’s other relatives around, but then – _all snail lives matter,_ his brain spits out. The implication isn’t great, but as much as he likes these little guys right now, he doesn’t actually think they’re keen enough to invent snail racism. 

He settles into moving methodically along the pavement, shuffling in a crouch like a big crab, careful not to squish any worms. They haven’t done anything other than be disgusting, and that’s not their fault. Once in a while he looks up to check on Phil, but he’s dozing most of the time. Sometimes he’s just staring down at Dan with that sleepy look like he’s debating whether he can sleep some more. Dan goes back to work.

A woman walks by. She frowns at Dan when she sees him scuttling along, tugs her daughter away to walk through the grass. 

He cringes a bit. It probably does look a bit wild, to see someone his age scurrying around on the ground picking up snails while another man sleeps on a bench in broad daylight. For a moment he thinks she’s right, really. Then he hears the little _crunch_ as she squashes one he hadn’t got to yet, a ways down the path. His heart constricts.

“Phil,” he blurts. “Phil, Phil.”

Phil coughs a little, blinks his eyes open. He looks a notch more awake, now, like dozing did him some sort of good. Dan doesn’t actually know what to say now that Phil’s awake. _That woman’s a snail murderer,_ is what he wants to say, but that sounds entirely mental.

“She squashed a snail,” he says. It doesn’t make much more sense. He cringes again, but it’s worse because it’s Phil this time.

“Snail murderer,” Phil replies, low and earnestly offended. 

Dan beams. He thinks everything he’s doing is coming out a bit – quick and wild, a bit _too much,_ maybe. He doesn’t want to be too much for Phil. He wants so badly to be just right. His heart twists again, leaving him with that weird awful feeling for a moment. He’s still crouched on the ground, uncertainly caught between Phil and this weird thing that he’d gotten too wrapped up in, and he’s so fucking weird, like his pieces weren’t put together right, and –

“She’s going to snail court,” Phil continues. “And then snail jail for snail criminals.”

Dan stills. Something falls loose inside him, like someone’s cut a rope. 

“You’re weird,” he says. 

“Yep,” Phil says, smiling serenely. “And I’m on a million doses of cough syrup, so I’m legally drunk, too.” He pats blindly at his glasses, trying to maneuver them back over his eyes from where they’ve wandered up his forehead. He nearly pokes one of his eyeballs out in the process. 

Dan snorts and stands, finally, doing it for him even though Phil’s clumsy fingers are still flailing around in his way, bumping against his own. His knees pop as he stands, like he’s a million years old. Phil smiles up at him. It’s a bit sheepish, and he’s squinting oddly from where he’d poked himself, but – there’s weak sunlight hitting his wind-pink cheeks, too, making the curves of his face stand out after so many days of drizzle. Dan gets to see his stupidly large blue eyes again, closer than he’s seen them in a long time.

“Don’t break those,” Dan chides, softly. He takes a wobbly step back, and has to stop halfway through just to sort out where his own feet are. Phil starts laughing, then. 

“Don’t make me laugh, I’ll die,” he whines, after it turns into a cough. 

“Come on, get up. Time for you to go home to your romance dungeon. I’ll stop tripping once we start walking forwards.”

Phil’s eyes widen at – _romance dungeon,_ presumably. What the fuck. He _knows_ what Dan means. Dan pulls a face in reply, and then Phil’s already grabbing at his hand, pulling himself upright without even asking and nearly toppling the both of them over.

“I don’t have a romance dungeon,” Phil says, carefully innocent. “But I could get one.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“No?”

“God, let’s go, come on. Move those feet, Lester.”


	21. Chapter 21

_still duck of snakes?_

_what??_

_full_

_???????_

_are u still FULL of snakes  
sorry i typed fuck of snackes  
snakes  
fuck of snakes  
but it autocorrectd to duck or snakes_

_:)_

Dan stares down at the little smiley. It feels like his heart is going to pound out of his chest, rattling the cage until it escapes. 

_i GIVE UP,_ he types out, carefully.

_lol_

His phone rings a moment later. He jumps at the buzzing, surprised by the fact that it can just do that when he hasn’t arranged an exact time and place and reasons for someone to call him. He swipes at it impatiently, anyways.

“Hi?”

“Hi,” Phil says. He still sounds a bit scratchy.

“How are you feeling?”

“About half snakes, I think.”

“Oh, well, great. That’s better than full snakes, isn’t it?” 

He thinks he hears Phil laugh, that little soft thing that he does sometimes when Dan says something silly. “Yeah,” he agrees, carefully serious.

“Great.”

“Sorry, like. I don’t know why I called, it just seemed like maybe you’d – burnt your fingers, or something? Like you know when you burn them on a pan and you can’t really type?”

Dan – can picture what Phil’s saying. It’s so specific and so – weirdly _Phil._

“Yeah,” he says. “Um, actually they just suck, though? Like, they’re just bad fingers.”

“I think they’re nice,” Phil says.

Dan – doesn’t know what he means by that. A part of him almost asks, but he doesn’t want to put Phil in a weird position if it wasn’t anything, and – it’s Phil. There’s a good chance he didn’t mean anything by it, that it was just the first series of words he thought to say. 

It feels like he stumbles over that thought. His brain stutters for a moment, going cloudy and then clearing again so fast he’s left disoriented and fond and sad and entirely out of sorts all at once. 

“How are you?” Phil asks. His voice is gentle, like he can hear that Dan just – isn’t. Isn’t right, isn’t keeping up, isn’t really on earth. 

His first instinct is to flinch away from it. He wants to retreat to whatever’s safe and won’t get him made fun of or looked at funny or any of that, but –

“Not great,” he mumbles, zooming into it before he can cower. As long as he runs at it he might get there. “Just – yeah, not good. Um. Like really – weird, I guess.”

“Alex home?”

Dan shakes his head, swallowing. He’s been trying to just bide his time until they are, but his fingers started twitching towards his phone, opening his paltry few texts and closing them and opening them and – 

“Dan?”

He’s here now, anyways.

“No, no, they’re gone. It’s fine, I just – yeah. Like. I’m just bored and like – I don’t know.”

“Anxious?”

He hesitates. “Maybe. Like I could – fight or flight a wall.”

Phil pauses. Dan’s heart goes to live somewhere down by his knees for a moment.

“Hey. So, I hate my brother. Could I come over and play Mario Kart?”

“You want to come over and lose?” Dan blurts. 

It’s not exactly – welcoming, or whatever. He doesn’t think it’s what you’re meant to say in this situation. He only breathes again when Phil laughs. 

“Yeah, I love losing,” Phil says, flippant.

\--

He fumbles the buttons a full three times before he manages to even turn the TV on.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He can’t really explain it. He doesn’t know how to say that it feels like all of his limbs are about to run away from him without sounding completely crazy, and he doesn’t want to worry Phil with that thought.

Phil shrugs, anyways, like it isn’t anything. “I’m clumsy too.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. He hovers awkwardly in the middle of the room for a moment, before remembering that Phil’s only here to keep an eye on him and this is – almost exactly how he fucked up, last time. He curls up small against the opposite arm rest, tries to focus on the screen while Phil starts going through the set up.

A controller he’d forgotten in the cupboard gets pressed into his hands. 

“Sorry.”

Phil doesn’t really answer. Dan confirms what he wants on autopilot.

“Are you ever not Princess Peach?”

“No. Why are you Yoshi now?”

“I’m scalie,” Phil says, serenely. 

Dan watches him hover for a moment too long over the stupid winter themed course that Phil loves and he hates, but at the last minute he picks the city one. Dan doesn’t know if Phil remembers how much he likes that one, and Phil doesn’t look over knowingly or anything, but – he lets himself believe, for a moment.

It’s probably the quietest Dan’s ever been while playing. He zones out, squawking a bit only when he skids into a wall and when the character ahead of him hits a bonus. 

“Get wrecked,” Phil says, at one point, like he’s heckling. When Dan glances over he’s pretty sure that _Phil’s_ the one bouncing off into the oblivion. 

He shakes his head a bit and tries to focus.

He gets second the first time, and then first on the second round. Phil’s smile looks a bit petulant, but he still lets Dan see it, grinning patiently when Dan starts crowing about winning again in the third round. 

He’s just in the zone. His fingers scurry over the controls, and he can rely on the muscle memory for the most part. It’s hard to tell if it’s – permanent, or anything, but the clumsy haphazard feeling in his fingers starts to drop away, replaced with the familiar rhythm. Something in his brain unclenches, just a bit.

Phil actually manages to put up a fight on the fourth round. Dan thinks it’s completely luck.

“You bastard,” Dan whines, as Phil zooms past him.

_“You_ bastard,” Phil replies. Dan glances over while he rushes down a straightaway, and catches the look on Phil’s face just long enough to see that he’s grinning wide and proper, tongue caught between his teeth. 

He tries to focus on the game again.

Phil skids along a wall as soon as his booster wears off, which more or less defeats his lead. Dan zooms away for a second, scooting into fifth place at least.

“Oh.”

It’s so – soft, and small, and ridiculous. It’s ridiculous of Dan to feel bad as badly as he does, but he recognizes it immediately as that little sound Adrian makes right before he starts crying over the Hungry Hungry Hippos board and then says something miserable about how his parents don’t love each other and also pudding is made of horses, because if he’s sad he might as well be _really_ sad. 

He has to make a bit of a show of it, but he zooms left in a way that he thinks looks pretty graceful and groans dramatically when he spins out. Phil snakes by him. 

“I’m winning,” Phil says, like it’s an announcement. Dan decides not to point out that actually he’s in sixth, now, and he’s only winning in as much as he’s beating Dan.

“You’re doing great,” he says. It sounds – a bit funny, to his ears. He hazards another glance, though, and Phil’s grinning again like it meant something. Phil makes a little _wheeeeeeee_ noise as he crosses the finish line. He sticks his tongue out when he catches Dan laughing at him.

“You’re such a sore winner,” Dan tells him.

“Am not. I just like it a lot.”

“Ooh, okay, so you celebrating right in my face is fine then.”

“Are you tired? You only lose when you’re tired.”

Dan shrugs. It’s not exactly early any more, and it feels like – the rushing feeling has smoothed out into something quieter. He’s settled into it. It’s not good, but he can breathe without getting claustrophobic.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says, leaning back and stretching until his back cracks.

Phil’s – staring at him, when Dan settles. He doesn’t want to look too closely, but he thinks his cheeks are a bit pink. He’s got his tongue poking out over his lip, wet and delicate and goofy and –

“I missed you,” Dan blurts.

“I saw you three days ago.”

Dan cringes, a bit. It’s true. He’s kind of weird for missing someone who’s always around anyways. “Yeah, but like – I missed having you here.”

“I missed being here.”

“Why?”

Phil stares at him, and a little groove erupts between his eyebrows. Dan doesn’t really know why he asked. Phil practically lived with them, and it’s normal to dislike change.

“I like being around you,” Phil says, carefully. It’s like – Dan doesn’t get it. It’s like he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, or he thinks Dan is a bit of an idiot, which is fine because it’s kind of true, but –

“Okay,” he mumbles. He doesn’t want to talk about that. 

“Have you ever –” Phil pauses, looking like he’s steeling himself. “Thought you might have depression?”

Dan barely suppresses the eye roll. 

“Yeah. Went on pills and everything.”

“Oh,” Phil says, like that’s not what he was expecting.

Dan shrugs at the unspoken question. “They were just, like – I don’t know. It just felt like a crutch. I just have to be less of a dick. It’s just – discipline, I think.”

Phil pauses, something flashing over his face that Dan can’t really parse. It’s a bit – frustrated, like – like he really thinks Dan’s a bit dim or something. Like it would be easier for him if Dan would just suck it up and go back on the stupid things and calm down. Dan understands that. He thinks that himself, sometimes.

“Mine help, is all,” Phil says, quiet.

“What?”

“Mine help,” Phil repeats, a bit more determined.

Dan stumbles. They never talked about this. It seems like something they would’ve talked about, but –

“Oh – well, I mean, sure, like, you know, that’s great. That’s really great,” Dan says, all in a rush. “It’s not like I think they’re bad, I mean, they really help a lot of people and there shouldn’t be so much stigma around them, and um. That’s really – that’s so good if they help. Right?”

“Sure,” Phil says.

Dan’s – not really handling this properly. The words rattle in his mouth when he talks, so many bits of phrases about how good it is for everyone else that that option exists but how much he just – can’t, for some reason. 

_I just need to be a different person,_ he thinks. _I just need to be good first._

He knows as soon as it zips through his brain that Phil wouldn’t like it a bit if he said that. That they’d just argue and that Phil wouldn’t understand and he’d just end up in some kind of trouble, the way he always does.

“When’d you get those?” he asks, instead.

“Bit ago,” Phil says. “When I got back to London. After that whole thing at home, I guess it just felt like I should.”

“I’m glad it’s – that you like them,” he tries. 

Phil shrugs, smiling a bit like it’s the right thing to say.

\--

They eat dinner, because Dan doesn’t know what else to do. He feels loose limbed and exhausted in that way that makes him anxious about what he’ll fall into every time he takes a step, but – he’s not buzzy, any more. His fingers don’t shake and he doesn’t worry that they’ll do something he doesn’t want. 

\--

_staying with sky sorry love  
meant to text earlier_

_okay_

“What’d they say?” Phil asks from where he’s perched again on the other side of the couch, studiously reading one of Alex’s books while Dan wanders aimlessly through Wikipedia. Dan’s confused for a moment, before he realizes that Phil probably recognizes the one-two-three vibration on his phone that no one else gets.

“They’re staying over with someone.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees, lamely. He doesn’t want to admit that it’s – terrifying, sometimes, to go sit alone in the dark cave of their little flat, and not know when Alex is going to come rescue him. It’s terrifying to think that he’s just relying on one person, and if they fail he doesn’t really know if he can rely on himself.

He wants Phil to – he can’t ask Phil for that.

“Dan?” 

“Huh?”

“You’d be alone, right?”

He yanks at a thread on the couch, too roughly. He can’t bring himself to ask, and it fucking – hurts that Phil can see something he isn’t even willing to say outloud. It terrifies him that Phil can do that, in some weird feral part of his brain that’s always cowering behind things and trying to stand where the ground won’t shake. 

“Yeah,” he manages to say. 

“Is that okay?” 

Dan swallows. He can barely keep his face plastered against his skull, with the way it’s tugging and crumpling funny of its own accord.

“Not really,” he says. “I mean, I don’t – I don’t know, Phil. It’s fine. It’s fine.”

He watches as the blurry shape of Phil gets closer, looming into his vision.

“Hey,” Phil says. There’s a gentle hand in Dan’s hair, brushing it back the way he always likes. He leans into it on instinct and then flinches, squirming away again. 

It’s just – it’s all too much, all at once. There’s a moment where he desperately doesn’t understand why he didn’t see that feeling coming. It wouldn’t have been hard to put everything on lockdown, but now he’s got Phil touching him gently like that, and he’s rocketing between how much he wants to lean into him and how much it hurts to think that Phil’s only here temporarily, just a stopgap until Dan can be trusted to act like a person. He’s startled by how quickly he’s tripped into feeling too much in a different direction than before. He squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t see even a wobbly version of the patient look he knows is on Phil’s face. 

“I just don’t want to be like this,” he says into the darkness. “I don’t – want you to just be here when I’m doing poorly. It’s too much.”

“I’ve said a million times that I don’t mind.” 

Dan’s a bit flustered by how annoyed Phil is, like it’s – bizarre of him, or something, to think that he’s being frustrating.

It’s a fucking cliche to tell Phil to just go and leave him alone. It’s a cliche to say that he’d be better off, and Dan knows he’s not supposed to use those words. He’s heard that enough from his mum and Alex and the therapist that patiently tried to explain how the world worked to him, but it’s still –

“I like you,” Phil continues, determined. “Like, you’re just – weird, and opinionated, and funny, and you say stuff all the time that’s –”

“You’re describing a nightmare.”

“I’m describing you.”

“Thanks, I’m a nightmare,” he mutters.

Phil leans in, shoving at his arm. Dan’s used to annoyance, but he’s never had someone _shove_ him to cheer him up before. 

“I’m gonna bite you,” Phil says. Dan blinks, and he’s a bit bleary still, but – it’s fucking hard to cry when Phil’s dragging this conversation absolutely off the rails.

“You’re gonna _bite_ me?”

“You’re like – you want to live in a little bubble where you can’t be annoying.”

“I mean. Yeah?”

“And then you just get sad and freaky,” Phil says, exasperated. “Because you won’t talk to your friends for five minutes and admit you need something.”

He’s not – exactly wrong. Dan doesn’t exactly love the freaky designation, but once Phil’s said it – it feels true. He holds himself together just long enough to let the weird parts ferment into something weird and awful, and then they have to deal with it. 

“You’re kind of my second friend,” he mumbles. “I don’t really know how this works.”

Phil softens, a bit. He’s still got his shoulders in that funny set, jaw jutting a bit like he isn’t going to back down until Dan listens to him. Dan hasn’t seen that look very often, and he can’t place where he’s seen it before, but –

“Yeah,” Phil says. “It’s okay.”

His voice is so quiet, like he knows Dan can’t take much more playful annoyance without tipping over the edge of something. 

Dan’s startled by how thoughtful he can be. How gentle he is even when Dan’s expecting poking and prodding and frustration.

“My mum never said she hated it when I was weird, but it was like,” Dan starts. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s even saying it to Phil, but he can’t stop either. “I don’t know. My dad would do it and then I would go off before he could – come back to the living, and it was. Yeah, like she couldn’t – really trust either of us to be there when she needed us. I just – I worry. I guess.”

“Are you a lot alike?”

Dan’s – fucking riled by that thought, even if it’s true. He twists his fingers together, locking them together until he can trust that they won’t start vibrating.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. He’s – I mean, gone now, I guess, but he wasn’t – yeah. Yeah, we’re a lot alike. Whenever I’m stupid, that’s that Howell gene.”

“That’s hard.”

Dan squirms, scrunching his face up. “I don’t know why I’m saying this. Sorry, it’s weird.”

“My mum doesn’t talk very well,” Phil says. 

Dan assumes they’re just – trading facts, or something, so they don’t have to sit with how Dan got stuck with a gene that just says he can’t be a real person, from a guy he doesn’t even like that much, wouldn’t have ever picked to share with if he’d had the chance.

“Oh. Uh. Is she an immigrant?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, like, she’s just bad at talking. She just says weird stuff, and she thinks chocolate tastes weird–”

“You got your weirdo gene from her?”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees. He smiles, a little, looking pleased that Dan managed to translate for him. 

Dan’s never quiet for long, but he’s caught off guard, for a moment. Phil just has this way of making him feel every emotion at once, one after the other with no warning.

“You always zigzag,” he blurts.

“When I’m sewing?”

“You sew? What, no. No, I mean when I’m – being this way. You always distract me and find other weird stuff to talk about.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, like it’s obvious.

“You don’t just yell at me.”

Phil pauses, pursing his lips a bit. “Do people yell at you?”

“Not – I mean,” Dan says, stumbling. “Sometimes. They try not to, but it’s – I’m hard to deal with, right. It’s hard not to yell at me.”

“Not really,” Phil says, too easily.

“We’ve already talked about this. I just –” he sighs, stuttering to a stop again. He just feels safe telling Phil that he’s fucking weird and that he’s having a bad time. That’s what it is, mainly. He feels – like – loved, he thinks. Like it’s unconditional. Like the things Phil needs from him aren’t more than he can give. 

That’s too strange to say to someone who’s just meant to be a mate. That would cross a million boundaries in one leap, if he said that.

“You make me feel like I’m worth waiting for,” he blurts. Phil goes a bit wide eyed, mouth opening and then closing again a moment later like he didn’t know what was going to come out of it. “In a good way. Not like that. Like – I don’t know. Nevermind.” 

He studies Phil’s bewildered look. He didn’t mean it the way Phil’s thinking, but he can’t bring himself to take it back, either. He meant parts of it.

“Today’s better,” Phil says, after a pause. He starts a bit, like he’s startled himself with his own talking.

“Than when?”

Phil’s fingers fuss against each other, making a little sh sound every time they pass. 

“It was like this last time, right?”

“When?”

“Like – that one time. When you were all –”

It hits Dan in the middle of the sentence. “Yeah,” he says, quick, like he can get out ahead of whatever Phil’s already thinking. Phil pauses, like he’s not sure what to say anymore.

“What?” Dan insists, when he’s been quiet for a second too long.

“I’m trying to say things right,” Phil whines. 

“Out with it, man, let’s go,” Dan says. He worries that it’s too much, maybe, but Phil scrunches his face and shoves at him again until Dan rolls his eyes and pretends to topple over like a defeated villain. Phil’s hiding a smile when he pops back up, eyes glittering with – something. Mischief, Dan thinks.

Phil settles again. His lips move and no sound comes out, for a minute. 

“You told me, this time. When we were at the park. And you texted me. And now it’s – better, right? You only cried a little.”

Dan snorts. He makes it sound like there’s some kind of chart, or something. A statistical ranking of how much Dan is having a meltdown. Phil’s not – wrong, though. Dan wants to argue that it’s just random and he can’t predict it, and he thinks that’s still mostly true, but – he also thinks about how his hands wouldn’t stop shaking when he tried to text Phil, earlier. How it’s settled into something predictable and cottony, at least. How Phil can distract him from some of the easy traps, drag him away to talk about lizards or whether witches exist in the Pokemon universe or whatever it is that he’s going on about.

“Yeah,” he says, eventually. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“Can I stay?”

Dan doesn’t really understand why Phil’s asking like it’s a privilege and not something Dan should be begging for, but he can’t get into it. He nods, and Phil smiles shyly up at him like he did the first time he stayed over. Dan’s heart pounds once, twice. It’s not a bad thing, for once. There’s nothing scary behind it.

Phil doesn’t ask, and Dan doesn’t ask, but – he goes and gets Alex’s blanket and pillow from their room, pulls it out to the sofa. 

“They’re staying all night?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “They won’t wake you up, so. You can have my bed, too, if you want. It’s fine.”

“I’m okay here.”

“Okay,” Dan agrees. He’s too tired to press the issue. 

“Goodnight, Dan.”

“Night, Phil.”


	22. Chapter 22

The air nips at his skin as he walks. It’s like he can feel how red his nose is, and he keeps having to sniffle a bit to try to clear it.

“Hi?” Ellie says when he opens the door and trudges in. “Y’alright?”

She’s obviously surprised to see him, if the look of _what the fuck are you doing in my ice cream shop_ is anything to go by. A napkin’s dangling in her fingers like she’s forgotten that she’s holding it.

“Yeah. Just bored at home.”

“Is Alex in textbook hell?”

Dan shrugs. He’s a bit – off. Saying goodbye to Phil in the morning was awkward. It had felt so familiar to have him around, but little things had been off. He’d felt weird about waking him up from the couch, instead of just assuming that Phil would wake up when he came back from showering, and weird about eating breakfast together, and weird about saying goodbye at the door, with that feeling in his throat like it was a huge thing to let Phil leave and not know for sure if he would come back. 

That fiasco had spent just about all of his energy by nine o’clock. He knew it would worry Ellie if he showed up like he used to in the worst of it, just to sit in the office and muck around while he’s not even on a shift, but – Phil was right, he thinks. He doesn’t really do well when he’s sitting quietly in his room for hours on end.

“Yeah, they’re buried. I didn’t feel like being alone with Guild Wars, I guess.” 

As soon as he says it he realizes it sounds a bit pathetic, like he’s just – a child, or something. A dork who works at the store and plays with his magical worlds and doesn’t have much else going on. Ellie smiles, anyways, crooked and fond.

“It’s good to see you,” she says.

\--

Phil comes in, later. Dan’s still holed up in the office, playing Alto's Adventure on his phone while Ellie zooms around the shop. He feels a bit bad, a bit goofy to have walked all the way here just to play a different game in a different place. Ellie doesn’t seem to agree. Last time he tried to help she’d locked him back in the cupboard again and only let him out once the big group of picnicking children had passed through.

He’d recognize those footsteps anywhere, though. 

Phil startles when he pops out of the office door. His big eyes go even wider and his hand comes up to his heart. Dan can’t tell if it’s because he didn’t expect to see him out of the house yet, or –

“You’re like a huge groundhog,” Phil complains. “In sand.”

“What?”

“He means I surprised him,” Dan translates. His voice comes out in this – soft little thing. Like he and Phil are in bed and they’re arguing about how drums are made just before they fall asleep. Like Ellie isn’t even there, even though he’s talking to her, really. 

Phil’s startled look breaks into a wide smile, the way it always does when Dan _gets_ it. It’s like Dan’s the center of the world, for a second, like Phil’s paying attention to him and there’s this spotlight shining over him, suddenly, because Phil’s looking at him with so much – whatever it is. Fondness, he thinks. 

Phil’s hair is all askew, smushed on one side and not quite staying upright, like he forgot to do anything with it once he left Dan’s flat. Dan wants to go around the corner and shove his hands into it.

Ellie’s giving him a look. 

He doesn’t turn to find out what it is, just grabs the scoop off the counter before she can get to it.

He scoops out a quick perfect set of balls and squashes them into shape. It’s not like Ellie isn’t pretty good at squashing balls. She’s pretty good. She just doesn’t do it exactly right, and Phil’s here enough that he can probably tell the difference between okay balls and balls that someone’s really put love into. _Horny,_ his brain offers absently.

“Thought you were tired,” Ellie says quietly, turned away from Phil so he probably can’t make it out.

Dan doesn’t answer. He smiles widely at Phil, instead, holding the cone out for him. Some of it’s out of habit, but some of it is just that he feels like it. 

“Are you staying?” Ellie asks Phil, while Dan rings him up for a small instead of a medium.

A group walks in right as she says it. Dan pokes the last button as quick as he can, even though Phil’s distracted looking at the new people with that surprised fish look that he gets sometimes. Ellie’s hand lands on his back, after a moment, gently pushing him in the direction of the office before he can get sucked into helping with the big group. He doesn’t see Phil leave, but he hears something that he thinks is a muffled _bye_ as he disappears around the door.

\--

“How’s the snowboarding?”

“It’s good,” he says, barely looking up from Alto’s Adventure.

“I’m leaving in twenty,” Ellie says. 

“Is Alex coming in?”

She huffs. “They’re your flatmate.”

Dan shrugs. He thinks that’s the schedule, but he hadn’t really remembered to ask them earlier. It might be Sarah instead. He doesn’t know if he’d rather face Alex’s knowing or Sarah’s questions.

“You’re alright?” she asks, softer. 

He shrugs again. It’s like – he can’t trust that it’ll be better, this time. He can’t trust that this is a better method, and not just a weird fluke that’ll go sideways later. His therapist would always lecture him about _coping mechanisms_ and finding things that make it easier, but – it’s not like he has that much experience with any of that. Sometimes it just makes it worse, he thinks. Every time he gets it in his head that he’s found something better and it falls apart in his fingers when he needs it, it hurts just a little bit more.

“Elle?” he blurts. Her familiar brown eyes are still watching him, with that look that’s – a bit impatient, a bit kind at the same time. He’s entirely never sure if she’s going to help or if she’s going to tease him.

“Yeah?”

“How’d you know you wanted to get married?”

Her eyebrows raise, creeping up her face. She huffs a little laugh. “Sorry, say that again?”

“No,” he says, suddenly petulant. She tilts her head anyways, considering. He’s pretty sure she heard him the first time.

“You’re better when he’s here,” she says, gentler.

“You’re better when Robbie’s here?”

“Danny, come on.”

He cringes, a bit. He does know that’s not what she meant. He thinks his original question was a bit stupid, but – he wants to know, too, if he’s honest. She’s looking at him so genuinely, and he wants to know so badly what the fuck he’s supposed to be looking for. He doesn’t really know who else in his life he could ask.

“Is that it? Like, is that enough? It’s just everyone trying to be – less sad for a little bit? That’s how you know?”

“I mean, that’s not the whole thing. Kind of. I knew because I just – I’m a better person when Robbie’s around. I want to be better, and he makes it easier to be better, so.”

“That sounds so fucking trite.”

“You dick. Those were my wedding vows.”

“Oh, no. It sounds like a line from Love Actually.”

“You’ve seen Love Actually?”

“I’m –” _extremely gay and enjoy crying,_ his brain supplies, “– pathetic.”

“Fuck that. You’re a sap is all you are.” 

“You’re supposed to clean the counter,” he snipes, instead of getting into it about the specifics of his bad personality. He gives her a smug look, but she just raises her eyebrows again for a moment. 

“So what? Alex can drip shit all over a clean counter for the first ten minutes? They can wipe it themself if that’s what they want.”

“I’m gonna tell Sarah and she’ll give you a check minus.”

Ellie grins, then, shaking her head in exasperation. She lightly bops him on the jaw with her fist, like she’s cracking an egg.

“You should think about it,” she says. He doesn’t think she’s talking about the counter anymore.

“I’m not gonna think about anything.” He stands, anyways, wobbling to his feet and making a face when his knees pop. Ellie’s not really headed in the same direction as his flat, but he might as well wander out front with her. 

\--

_ellie said you’re getting married??????_

They only said goodbye a few minutes ago, after Alex had skidded into the shop at the last possible second, and Dan had walked a couple of blocks with Ellie before turning around to go back towards his own flat. He probably should have figured that she would text Alex the second he was out of shouting distance.

He wants to say _fuck you both,_ or something along those lines, and ditch the topic altogether. It’s just – he can’t bring his fingers to type it out. 

_do your work  
!!!!_

It’s not – anything. It’s not a _no._ Alex isn’t stupid enough to miss that it’s not a no. 

His legs wobble under him for a moment, foot twisting funny and catching against the sidewalk, making him stumble a step in broad daylight. For a moment he wonders what it would be like to just be – small. To be able to trip and not have a man turn to stare at him, not feel like he has to stammer a _sorry_ under his breath at someone who doesn’t know him and can’t even hear. 

He doesn’t want to be alone, but – the thought of going to hang out with Phil feels so fucking big all of a sudden. This morning feels a million miles away. 

He lets himself into their apartment in a bit of a daze, turns on his laptop and opens Guild Wars again without really thinking.

\--

“You didn’t propose in the shop, did you?” Alex calls before they’ve even finished taking their shoes off. “Do we have to start planning the wedding? I don’t know where to get a florist.”

“Phil’s mum,” Dan blurts, before he can think. 

Alex gives him a startled look like there’s a split second where they think he’s actually – gone and done something, and planned the wedding, and probably contacted her already to ask. Dan cringes, pressing his lips together and staring studiously at his laptop instead of saying more bullshit.

“How was Sky?” he asks.

“Daniel.”

“What,” he whines, long and drawn out.

“Are you planning to propose to someone?”

“Should I tell my mum?”

Alex finally leans down to untie their other shoe. Dan has half a mind to bolt while they’re distracted. It’s a bit of a relief that they’re not looking at him, for a minute, even if he hasn’t actually said anything that means anything.

Soft footsteps move across the floor behind him. He tries to breathe until the little voice telling him to run goes away, tries not to cringe away when Alex sits carefully next to him. A hand lands on his knee.

He looks them in the eye like it’s a challenge, like everything’s normal, and then – looks away again, because it isn’t and he can’t deal with the look on their face. He picks impatiently at a hangnail.

“I don’t mean to make this a joke,” Alex says, quiet. “Since you’ve said it about five times now.”

Dan doesn’t know what to say, for a minute. He’s so rarely speechless. It’s just too big to put into words.

“You know Phil,” he starts.

Alex makes a little wheezing sound like he’s really challenging their ability to keep the no-joking promise. “I’m aware of him.”

Dan whacks impatiently at their leg, too fast and too hard. Alex squawks and lifts their hand off his leg like – he doesn’t know. He dodges away, moving too fast again.

“Okay, okay,” Alex says, voice cracking like they’re trying to smother something. “We don’t hit our friends, please, we learned about that in primary school.”

“You know I was almost held back in year one.”

“Because you spent a month coloring in one picture of a dragon and then you broke a chair trying to climb onto a counter and gave yourself a little baby concussion, mate, I know,” they say, dripping with fake-patience.

Dan manages a wobbly smile. He’d told Alex once through tears that the primary school concussion was why he couldn’t finish law school, and they’d laughed so much into their beer that it had made a horrible foghorn sound and Dan had cracked, too, giggling in a way he hadn’t in a long time before that point. It’s a good memory.

“Thanks for letting me live with you,” he mumbles. 

It’s nonsense, mostly. It’s been ages since that night, and he said thank you so many times at the beginning, anyways, knocked breathless over having someone that could see all of him and not make an issue out of it.

Alex smiles a bit, anyways. They reach up and card at his curls with one hand until Dan finally lets out a breath. 

“Can you talk to me a little?” they say, once his shoulders sag. “What about Phil?”

Dan twists his hands together, tugging and squashing his thumb in his fist for a minute. 

“I think I really like him.” 

“Duh.”

_“Alex.”_

“Alex nothing!”

“You said you weren’t going to laugh.”

He hazards a glance at them just in time to catch the tail end of a truly incredible eye roll. “Alex,” he whines again, when he realizes they’re just pulling an exasperated face at the ceiling, apparently frozen like that.

“You have to respect my emotions,” Alex tells the ceiling. “I didn’t realize what I was promising.”

“I’m not gonna tell you anything else, you dick. What did you fucking think – what – _bastard.”_

“You think you really like Phil?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

“You _think_ you really like him?”

Alex is looking at him again, but their eyes have gone wide. Their hands wander theatrically through the air like – everything else isn’t quite up to capturing the depth of their feelings.

“I keep staring at his eyes,” Dan blurts. “Like a freak.”

“That is freaky,” they agree.

“So.”

“So you –” they trail off. Their eyebrows crumple together, like he’s a puzzle to figure out, or like – it’s the same face they make at their textbooks. He’s a story question that doesn’t make sense, he thinks.

“What?”

“Explain to me how this is connected to telling your mum.”

Dan shrugs. “I have to. Like, if I want to – I mean. If Phil wants to, too, I can’t just be all – hey, I’m obsessed with your face, can we date, never speak to my mum or my nan, can you hide in the bathroom while she visits.”

Alex stills for a minute, lips twitching silently like maybe there’s not enough words in the English language. Dan has half a mind to snap at them to hurry up.

“Danny,” they finally say, slow. “You know you didn’t invent being in the closet, right.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, you big idiot,” he says. “It’s just like – I mean. That’s not fair to him. I can’t – I can’t trick him into dating me and then reveal that it’s all – fucked up, still.”

“No?”

He can’t really parse the look on their face. Confusion, he thinks. He’s not really sure. 

“I’m a cracked egg.”

Well, that’s definitely confusion. He recognizes that one now. “You sure act like a cracked egg,” Alex says, anyways. He doesn’t think they get it.

“Yeah, like, I’m damaged goods. We’re in – you know. It would be fine if this was Reading, but it’s – we live in London.”

“We sure do.”

They still sound baffled. Dan breathes in again, lets it out slowly. He tries not to get his back up about Alex not getting it. They understand him most of the time, but they’ve had a different life. They’re living a different life now, god knows. He still doesn’t understand why he’s so bad at travelling to their world when it’s so close by, but – he can’t begrudge them being happy. He can’t begrudge them being confused when he doesn’t really understand what his problem is, either.

“He could date anyone. Like, there’s a lot of people out there.”

Alex doesn’t answer. 

Dan’s been distracted for a minute with fussing at the hole he’s made in the couch cover, where the loose thread was before. He looks up. “What?” 

“You think he wants to?”

“Uh. Do I think he wants to date a cool bloke who’s not spooked by his own mum?”

“You make it – god, babe, I guess if you put it that way.”

“You think I’m being stupid?”

Alex hesitates a second too long on that one. “No,” they say, slowly. Like they’re lying. Super lying, even. 

“What do you think?” he demands.

“Honesty hour?”

“Fuck me up.”

“I think you’re neurotic. I think you plan too much and you make a lot of assumptions. I think you’re a big horrible perfectionist and you’ll absolutely ruin –”

“You’re the worst therapist,” Dan interrupts. “I hate this.”

“ – things instead of just letting them be less than perfect. I think you’re – like, emotionally blueballing yourself.”

“Are you quite finished?”

“No,” Alex says. “And I think you should just fucking ask Phil instead of deciding for him.”


	23. Chapter 23

It’s not that he’s procrastinating. 

Well. 

It’s not that he’s not procrastinating, exactly, but it’s not like there’s a deadline, so – it’s not the same thing, he decides. It’s not like he’s waiting to write a paper until the night it’s due.

He really believes that, right up until Thursday morning. 

The door pings, and it’s Phil, clutching two coffees in his hands, looking about as disgruntled as he possibly can in an ice cream shop. His hair’s somehow sticking out sideways from under his dripping wet hat. He’s apparently given up on the concept of umbrellas entirely, and he’s wearing the glasses that mean that he’s literally just rolled out of bed. He looks – so fucking cute Dan could die.

“Where’s your umbrella?”

“Dead,” Phil says, shoving the cup in Dan’s direction over the case.

“You’re meant to be sleeping, you madman.”

“Yeah, thanks, _meant_ to be,” Phil grumbles. Dan narrows his eyes at him, taking the cup out of his hands, carefully trying to – not touch too much, but also not too little, because that would be weird, and –

“Did you even sleep last night?” he blurts.

“Are you avoiding me?”

Dan’s – he’s putting the coffee on the counter and then picking it up again, taking a long drag, and then putting it back again, grabbing the scoop, whacking a cone together that’s far larger than regulation –

“I didn’t want any.”

Dan startles. “You’re acting weird,” he says. _Why would you come here if you don’t want ice cream,_ he wants to say.

 _“You’re_ acting weird.”

“I’m not.”

“Did I do something?”

He softens almost immediately. Phil’s – he seems like he’s doing better, but. Dan knows well enough that that’s a big question, coming from him. Phil has spent so much of their relationship trying to figure out if he’s done something, and Dan’s wild veering hasn’t helped. The fact that the answer is _I like you too much_ doesn’t do anything, if Phil doesn’t know. 

Phil’s still staring at him while he wavers.

“Yeah?” he asks, soft and uncertain. “Dan, please.”

“No. No, you’re good. Like – uh. Do you want to come over and watch zoom cars with me tomorrow?”

“Zoom cars?” He sounds so bewildered. 

“The cars – they go zoom. Uh. Formula One, like? They zoom around in a circle. I thought that was pretty clear, but –”

“Like car racing?” Phil’s smiling a bit, now, giving Dan this mischievous look that he doesn’t quite trust.

“Like car racing, yeah.”

“You could’ve just said that.”

“I’m not going to be lectured by you, you absolute mister know-it-all, like you’ve got –”

“Dan,” Phil says, patiently. He’s somehow got a massive cup of hazelnut in his hands that Dan doesn’t remember giving him or charging him for, and he’s reached up and stolen another spoon from on top of the case. He takes a nick off of one of his scoops and hands it to Dan, who takes it even though he’s not entirely sure how they got here.

“Put this in your mouth instead of talking,” Phil says. He’s still smirking, and Dan blushes bright red, going warm and all buzzy like he’s full of bugs.

“I think I’m full of bees,” he says, softer. Phil nods, like that makes any fucking sense.

He’s leaning over the counter, looming into Dan’s space in this way that makes his shoulders look so broad and gives Dan a little glimpse of his collarbone where his t-shirt is drooping under his jacket and –

“Help me eat this before your boss finds out I never pay,” Phil says, going back for another spoonful.

\--

Dan forgot to ask if that was a yes. He probably should have. 

He’s bounding around the shop, practically, too large and too quick and too friendly and generally very _much_ whenever someone comes in. No one seems to mind, but it’s like – he’s full of that feeling he’d get as a little kid on stage, when the audience would laugh at improvs that he wasn’t meant to be doing. 

“You’re cheerful today,” Sarah says, when she gets in to cover for the rest of the night. 

“Is that what this is?” he jokes. 

He’s already arranged all the cups from where he’d bumped them earlier during a rush, sorted everything out and cleaned the counter and took the trash out. 

“I heard you might have a date with someone?”

He whips around, wide-eyed. He tries to make it look like he’s upset that they’ve all been gossiping, but – he can feel the dimples, out in full force. 

“From Ellie?”

“From Alex,” she says. “Is that a yes?”

“I dunno. I mean, no, not really. I didn’t ask. He’s just coming over to watch a race. Like, Formula One? It’s the first big race and Alex won’t watch with me, and I need help eating all the popcorn I’m going to make, so.”

He can hear that he’s trying to soften it, but – it doesn’t match how he feels. Sarah gives him a look like she damn well knows that.

He’s starting to wonder how long they’ve all known about this thing that he didn’t really want to think about. 

\--

_help me  
i went the wrong way and i’m in liverpool now by accident_

_oh noooooooo  
where are you???_

_uhh  
i’m on green street?  
by the place with the italian flag and the pikachu  
i think that’s in liverpool  
am i going to have to fight a gallagher to leave  
is this like a quest?  
oh i saw a sad fox_

_a fox?????_

_yeah :(_

_how do you know it was sad_

_it was licking a hamburger wrapper and then a cat stole the wrapper  
and he was like :(((((((  
i feel really bad  
i feel like i should go buy a hamburger so i can give the fox the wrapper so it feels better  
he seemed like a nice guy_

_that is the most fucked up disney princess movie i’ve ever heard the plot of phil  
wait focus  
don’t buy a hamburger  
i mean are you hungry?  
maybe buy a hamburger  
no don’t stop feeding wild animals this is why there’s bears in garbage cans i saw a documentary_

_in london? bears?  
garbage can bears??????_

_F O C U S  
we’re focusing  
i’ll rescue you mate_

Phil goes dark, like he’s realized that Dan isn’t going to do anything useful if he could be talking about bear documentaries. He’s not exactly wrong. 

Dan opens his map app because he doesn’t actually know where that is. It’s fine. Phil doesn’t have to know he’s not some kind of all-knowing geography god.

_okay turn left  
then take the third left and walk until you get to lark  
then text me_

_what if i get hungry?_

_Keep Walking  
you’re the worst sim_

_did you ever commit mass murders_

_no i just made everyone super gay_

_:)  
you can be gay and commit murder_

_the smiley makes it SO threatening phil  
pay attention to wear you’re walking  
where  
BYE  
that’s me hopping out a window bc of my thumbs_

_okay i’m focusing shush_

Dan gets a whole three seconds of peacefully watching the pre-race interviews before Phil texts again.

_okay_

_okay what_

_i’m at the place you said_

_oh yeah  
okay do you know where you are now?_

_no????  
i’m in liverpool, i don’t know liverpool_

Normally Dan would be groaning that he can’t just figure it out, but he tumbles off the couch and practically bounces down the stairs to the front of the building. It takes a minute to spot Phil.

 _turn around,_ he texts.  
_no the other way lol_

Phil finally finds him. His face breaks into a smile, and he hurries over like he’s coming in for a hug. It’s – just relief, obviously. Dan’s good at this one thing that Phil struggles with, and he’s grateful. That’s all.

He meets Phil’s hug with an awkward sideways arm thing.

They’re – in public, and it’s not like – they don’t have to act like they’re reuniting after a war or something. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Phil says when he pulls away.

He follows Dan up the stairs and back to their – Dan’s – place, where Dan has very much left the door unlocked when he’d thundered downstairs.

“There’s no one, uh, in here, right?” Phil asks when Dan gestures for him to come in.

“Just Alex, and they’re not leaving their room as long as I’ve got racing on.”

Phil still looks a bit skeptical, but Dan’s busy rushing to make the popcorn he forgot about and trying to get settled before the start. Phil’s already planted himself in his spot on the couch by the time he manages to get the popcorn from the microwave. He leaves it on the table, curls up in a spot that he thinks is probably an appropriate distance away.

“Um. Sorry this is kind of a weird hobby,” he says.

“It’s so manly.” Phil sounds sort of – dreamy, in a way that leaves Dan uncertain about whether it’s a joke or not. 

The first car finally appears. Phil stays quiet for their first lap, like he’s trying to leave Dan in peace. Dan doesn’t really get that, but –

“Where’s the finish line?”

“In three hundred and six kilometers,” Dan says, even though there's no real finish. He knows how people react when they realize they've signed up to sit on the couch with him for hours.

“And _six?”_ Phil asks, like that final six is the sticking point. Dan bites back a grin.

“Seventy eight laps.”

“No.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“You have to wait seventy-eight laps to find out who won?”

“Well, they’re not winning. It’s just a practice round.”

He glances over, and Phil’s looking at him with a look of absolute horror and indignation, lip curled back like he’s some kind of animal.

“We’re watching – a practice round?”

Dan nods and pops a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “This is when all the crashes are. They don’t know what the fuck is going on, so it’s crazy. My dad and I used to make popcorn for it because it’s like going to see an action movie, basically.”

Phil groans. Dan’s pretty sure he catches him pulling out his phone and probably dicking around on Twitter, but he doesn’t mind, really. They’ll show a replay if anything blows up, and Phil will probably enjoy the chaos.

He watches quietly for a while. Phil briefly tries to start a war over where the popcorn bowl should live, but they come to a truce pretty quickly. One car crashes, and Phil _does_ enjoy ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the replay, like Dan thought.

It’s just – he gets a bit itchy, after a while. Phil doesn’t seem to mind if he’s acting weird, as long as he’s here, but he’s pretty sure he should say something about why. He’s pretty sure he should ask the questions Alex wanted him to ask, before Phil leaves again and the hole in the ground gets any bigger.

“If you were dating someone, would it matter if they weren’t out?” he blurts.

“Yeah,” Phil says, idly. Dan cringes. He didn’t fucking think this through at all.

“Okay. I just wanted to know,” he continues, barrelling along. “Like, if they were just really – super bad at it, and –”

“What’s it?”

“Being like. Y’know. Like being gay and stuff,” he says, mumbling the end for no good reason.

Phil’s looking at him instead of his phone, now, but – Dan doesn’t think he’s getting it.

“They’re not out to anyone?” Phil asks.

Dan takes a breath, trying to steady himself. “A lot of people. Their friends? But like, not their mum. You wouldn’t get to meet their family – like, biological family.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would matter.”

“Sure.”

“I mean – I spent a lot of time trying to prove to myself that I’d – still have family, like. I don’t know. I guess I always pictured having in-laws.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees, stupidly. He can hear the way his voice wobbles. He can’t say that he’s ever really pictured having anything like that. Not in any way that seemed clear to him. Definitely not with the bizarre clarity that Phil seems to have.

“I mean, do they want to tell them?” Phil asks, after an awkward beat.

“Maybe,” is all Dan manages to come up with. 

He sounds so fucking – uncertain, again. He tries to glue his eyes on what’s happening on the screen, where at least there’s bloody rules and numbers and calculations and if you’re bad at it you can just take up tennis instead.

“Are you talking about yourself?” 

Dan shakes his head. He doesn’t know why. It obviously just wouldn’t work, and he was right all along, and Alex convinced him to walk into a trap. It feels miserable now, but – he can get over it. 

“Are you trying to date someone?”

There’s a brief flash of like – fury, Dan thinks. It’s sharp in his gut. Phil doesn’t _get_ it, and Dan’s so ready to bolt he doesn’t know if he could put it into words. 

They’ve just gotten so close so many times.

They’ve looked over the edge of it so many times, and he thought Phil was ready to look again, maybe. Maybe they could look together and maybe there’s a path down. He doesn’t – he doesn’t know if there’s a world where he’d even think of going down there with anyone else and not have an entire meltdown. He doesn’t understand why Phil would say _someone_ like there’s ever been anyone else that Dan trusted that much. 

Phil’s dead silent, anyways. Dan heard him put his phone down, a minute ago, even if the sound was muffled by the berserk shit going on in his head. 

“Dan?”

“It’s you,” he blurts.

Phil’s quiet for only a minute, and – Dan understands that. He should understand that, that it’s a lot, and Phil’s already said no before and there’s just – there’s so many good reasons to say no again.

It hurts, is all. He doesn’t want to go and stare over the edge and find out he was walking alone this whole time. 

It takes just about all of his energy just to keep his big mouth shut and wait.

“Dan,” Phil starts, slowly. 

“It’s fine,” he says.

“I wouldn’t mind if it’s the right person.” Something warm and easy settles in Dan’s chest, like – melted butter on toast. It only lasts a moment.

“Yeah. Um,” Phil continues, when Dan doesn’t say anything. Dan can hear how carefully he’s talking. “I wouldn’t – I don’t think it’s right to force someone, and that’s – I could let that go if it was the right person and they were trying, Dan, that’s fine. And you’re – you’re totally trying, right. It’s just. I really like you, so much.”

“Like a doily,” Dan mutters, thickly. Phil’s quiet again for a minute. He swallows. 

Everything he’s saying sounds like it’s good news, but he’s not – jumping at Dan, the way he had hoped. He’s not running, either. They’re left with this weird middle ground that Dan didn’t realize he should prepare for.

Phil shifts on the other side of the couch, moving closer. His pinky pokes at Dan’s loose fist until it can wrap around Dan’s own. 

“It’s not about that,” Phil says. Dan squeezes his finger tightly. 

“Okay.”

“Dan. I’m not saying I don’t like you. But that’s – that’s a lot, okay?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, weakly. He knows it’s coming out forced and vague, now. He’s quickly realizing how much he doesn’t want to be here any more.

“I scared the shit out of my parents,” Phil says, softer. “When I went home. And my brother, after – all that.”

He’s still squeezing Dan’s finger back, loosening and then curling again like it’s a metronome. Dan doesn’t want to rely on the quiet rhythm of it as much as he does, but the idea of letting go seems impossible. He nods.

“I know I’m bad at it,” he mumbles. He just wants to give Phil – something. Some acknowledgement that he gets why it has to be this way. “I know I’m bad at everything.”

“You’re not, though.”

Dan’s caught for a moment between how badly he wants to fall headfirst into that thought and – the way he knows that’s not an option, now. He didn’t realize, before, how much the promise of _maybe_ was keeping him going.

“Thanks.”

“Just at some things,” Phil jokes, awkwardly. Dan snorts. 

“It’s okay,” he says. He manages to make it come out a bit steadier. “I know it’s like, ninety-eight percent bad.”

“You’re good at directions. Dan, hey.”

Dan looks away from the screen, again. He’s fine. He just wants to watch the race and hang out with his best friend that he has an enormous crush on and just – be fine. Asking was stupid, anyways.

Phil has this pleading look on his face, though. His big eyes look a bit wet around the edges, and it’s the least Dan can do to just listen to him.

“I need to talk to other people first,” Phil says, carefully. “Like, a lot of them. I just – I scared myself. My mum said it was like I didn’t have a backup plan for anything, and – I don’t know. I can’t put everyone through that again.”

The things he’s saying sound – promising, almost. Dan’s turned off that button for now, but he can recognize that it’s not bad, exactly, and file it away for later like he’s sorting mail.

“Are you gonna tell your therapist how annoying I am?”

Phil smiles. It’s such a weird thing to ask, and Dan wouldn’t even bring it up with anyone else, unless he was looking for a fight about how demanding he is all the time. Phil just takes it as what it is, though. He doesn’t rise to Dan’s bait.

“Yeah,” he says, softly. “Like a big emotions dweeb.”

“An emotions dweeb?” Dan repeats, incredulous. He definitely falls for Phil’s bait all the time, only it’s absolutely weird and they mostly end up laughing instead of upsetting each other.

“It’s when you’re a nerd for emotions,” Phil says, seriously. Dan almost giggles at how quickly he can flip that switch into absolute nonsense. “We know about Pokemon species, and therapists have lists of _coping strategies._ Except then they get paid for it. No one pays me for knowing what Pikachu is? I need a new job.”

“They only teach us the first level bonuses on the wiki,” Dan says, just to see Phil’s mouth quirk at the corner. “The really good ones are a secret.” 

He hazards a smile that’s mostly dimples, squeezing Phil’s pinky finger one last time before he reaches to get the popcorn.


	24. Chapter 24

Phil brings him another coffee on Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday. He doesn’t always get an ice cream when he stops by. 

“How are you?” he says every morning, in that gentle voice.

Dan has half a mind to have an absolute fucking tantrum. Phil’s just – this close to coddling him. He brings his peace offering of coffee, and he doesn’t even order a mountain of flavoring in Dan’s any more. They see each other more than they did when Dan was dithering. Phil seems like he just really, genuinely cares, and Dan – can’t even bring himself to question that. He thinks he used to spend a lot of time being wary, but he can’t find that part of his brain any more.

“I’m okay,” Dan keeps telling him. 

Phil studies him with that worried look like he thinks Dan might be squashing some feelings, but – he doesn’t think he is. 

“It’s weird,” Dan blurts, on Wednesday. Phil’s hovering by the case, drinking his coffee and making idle comments about how Ellie’s bright blue playdough flavor looks like Cookie Monster’s blood.

“What’s weird?”

“I thought I’d have a strop.”

“Yeah?”

“Or like – you know. Like sleeping beauty this part.”

Phil looks even more worried, but – maybe that’s just his face. Dan shrugs. 

“I thought, like – I’d just lose you or I’d have you,” he says, idly picking at a chip on the counter so he doesn’t have to look up. “And instead you’re just here and you’re nice.”

“Do you want me to stop being nice?”

Dan rolls his eyes, even though he’s not sure if Phil is looking at him. “Yeah, it’s terrible,” he says, sarcastic. “It’s so hard having a friend who’s nice to me.”

“I can – I don’t have to be,” Phil says. He sounds so unsure that Dan’s heart seizes up for a moment. 

“No, no. No. Sorry. It’s just weird. It’s not bad. I just thought I’d have a meltdown and instead it’s like – fine. Everything’s fine? I don’t know what to do with that.”

Phil’s quiet, for a second. “You want to have big feelings.”

It feels like a weird Phil-ism, but – it’s not exactly untrue.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

He looks up just in time to catch the way Phil nods like that conversation’s over. They both go back to their coffees.

\--

“Have you like – talked to people?” he asks, on Thursday. He isn’t really sure if he wants to hear the answer, but he’s getting itchy about it. He doesn’t actually know how many people Phil meant when he said _other people._ It could take a million years, and he worries that he might not live long enough to see the end of that.

Phil takes an excruciatingly long sip, like he’s buying himself time to think.

“Mmm,” he says, which might be about the coffee or might be about Dan asking too big of a question.

“That’s okay,” Dan says, quickly. It took him a year to admit anything to Phil, so it’s not like he can judge if he’s procrastinating.

“No, uh. My brother said you’re an infant.”

Dan cringes.

“My mum says you’re lovely but, again, you’re an infant.”

“Oh,” Dan mumbles. He doesn’t think people traditionally like to date infants.

“My friend Ian says you’re not really an infant. Then he said I’m an infant, actually, and then, um. I dunno. He says he knows it was bad, when I was up north last, but – he said I talk about you like I talked about Sam Henning in college, and Sam Henning was hench and I wouldn’t shut up about him, so –”

“You think I’m hench?”

Phil levels him with a skeptical and also vaguely disdainful look. “Well, you’re not.”

“Oh.”

“You’re like – your face is nice. His face wasn’t. You don’t need to be jacked.”

“Is your type a rugby player?”

“How did you know he was a rugby player?”

“You literally just said he was ugly and hench,” Dan says, matching Phil’s bewildered face.

“We don’t have to get into that.”

“Um, I kind of want to? I have a lot of questions, actually, about what exactly you think people should look like?”

“Don’t ask me any questions,” Phil says, quickly. “My point is that Ian wants me to shut up about you, so I have to ditch you or date you, and otherwise I can’t go home and see his dog and his kid any longer, because I’m too annoying.”

“Did you get – uh. Any feedback on which of those you should do?”

Phil shrugs, and it’s like – flippant. Like it could go either way. Dan feels confused as hell, still, but in a slightly different way than the way he felt confused as hell a minute ago.

“He says you’re a weird baby, and that people don’t date weird babies.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees, uneasy. He supposes that’s a valid point.

“But he said if anyone’s going to date a weird baby it would be me, um, and I’m – I try to keep it cool when you’re around, and then I go home and I call Ian up and I tell him your face is too pretty and your earrings are cool and you look like a painting and I want to snack on you, uh –”

He trails off and blinks. Dan thinks there was another half of a sentence that was supposed in there, but Phil’s just sort of staring at him, with a coffee cup forgotten in his hands and those wide, disconcerting blue eyes.

“You want to snack on a painting?” he repeats, soft and awed. He doesn’t know exactly what else to say.

“I say a lot of freaky things,” Phil finishes. “To Ian. Generally. And he thinks maybe I like you a lot. So.”

“Okay. Uh. Great?”

“Yep,” Phil says, matter of factly. Dan – he wants to think that he gets Phil all the time, but sometimes he’s so vague that he cannot for the life of him figure out where the conversation is about to go.

“Anyone else?” he says, uncertain.

“The emotions dweeb.”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah. What’d he say?”

Phil makes a sort of – pinched face, then. “He said we need to have boundaries,” he says, slower. He’s careful in a way he wasn’t when he was rattling off his conversation with Ian. “That – I like you. Or, like. That I’m – you make me feel confident. Um, and that’s good? And that – uh, like, it seems like I want you to be in my life, so. But we can’t just – before, we didn’t really communicate. Or – didn’t – didn’t talk right? Didn’t talk the right way? And then I’d get scared when things were weird, so – yeah,” he finishes. 

Dan feels like he’s only said about one entire sentence, and about a hundred fractions of other sentences. 

“Okay,” he says, slowly.

“Sorry,” Phil says. It’s – awkward, and quiet, and too bold at the same time. Like he’s trying to cover up how he’s feeling. Dan had thought for a minute that what he was saying was promising, but Phil sounds so unsure and scared that he can’t quite tell if he’s just – doing too good of a job of letting Dan down gently. Maybe he’s just being gentle, and forgetting the part where he’s planning to let Dan down.

“So we shouldn’t? Right?”

“No,” Phil says, shaking his head wildly like he’s sort of given up on words. _No. No,_ they shouldn’t. Dan’s heart drops into his feet, for a second. He’s fine. He’s fine, it’s not a big deal. 

“It’s just hard to talk about, for me,” Phil continues. “It’s not a no, I just – I need to work on that, first.”

“Oh.”

It’s so – vague. It’s not a yes, and the way he’s all buzzy again doesn’t match how small of a thing it is. It’s not a no, either, and the way he’s feeling a bit crushed and more than a bit overwhelmed isn’t fair to Phil at all. 

“I mean, I have to be able to talk to you, so.”

“Yeah.”

“Gotta be able to talk first,” Phil says, like that’s a clarification. 

He rolls his eyes a bit, and his mouth quirks at the corner. It’s fucking stupid how Dan’s stomach swoops at his little joke. 

“I like the way you talk,” he says, stupidly. “I mean, it drives me _beyond_ mental, but –”

“Thanks,” Phil interrupts.

“ – I like that you think you’re going to eat a painting. What kind of painting, by the way? Like an expensive one? Can you set the scene so I know what I should expect when you go to jail because you ate a painting?”

“Guards and everything, yeah. Yeah, there’s that guy? Do you know what I mean?”

Dan’s heart is like – running around, pitter pattering. It’s like when he was tiny and he’d run around on his nana’s white carpets in his muddy boots after she’d picked him up from school, and she’d chase him, trying to yell and mostly laughing. She’d always try to bribe him with a biscuit like he was a naughty dog. It was pretty effective. He’d love to know what snack would get his innards to stop booking it around right now.

“I absolutely don’t,” he says. “There’s a lot of guys, Phil.”

Phil sighs, dramatically, like the fact that Dan couldn’t take _guy whose expensive painting I want to eat_ and connect the dots from there means he’s completely dense.

“The gay one. The gay fruit guy. The famous one.”

“The gay _fruit_ guy?”

“Not like that. Like he’d paint, like, his boyfriend eating fruit and then he’d say to the pope, uh, buy this? It’s a picture of Jesus looking really cute with some grapes.”

Dan laughs. Phil’s trying to sketch the concept in the air with his hands like he has a vision of what he’s talking about, of where the guy’s boyfriend would be and where the grapes would be, and then a little pat to the side which Dan thinks indicates the location of the pope. 

“Can you prove to me that any of this is true?”

“Why would it not be true?” Phil demands, whiny. “I had to take a class with a professor.”

“You didn’t dream it?”

“No, of course not. I probably didn’t dream that,” he says, which isn’t exactly a clear no. Dan’s face aches from beaming at this absolute idiot. “I wouldn’t lie to you about gay fruit guy.”

“What’s his name? I bet he’s on wikipedia.”

Phil makes a little groaning sound. He taps his palms against the counter, impatient. “I was in my first year! I don’t remember. See what happens if you google horny gay fruit guy.”

Dan squawks. “I’m _not_ going to do that.”

Phil gives him a look of absolute indignation, like he couldn’t imagine why Dan wouldn’t do that. Then it collapses into a weird smirk. _You’ve seen it before,_ is what Dan expects, that prodding and needling he’s used to. _I bet you’ve searched for that._

“Medieval popes thought it was hot,” Phil says instead, leering. He sounds so certain that Dan briefly wonders if he’s a time traveller.

Dan flops forward on the counter, surprised into moving before he’s really thought about it. He props his face in his hands to try to hide the fact that there’s tears building in his eyes from how much he’s laughing, but it just gets worse when Phil gently pats the top of his head, murmuring some nonsense about how it’s not _that_ funny.

\--

“How was the morning?” Sarah asks, when she comes in. Dan’s already disappearing into the office to grab his coat off the hook.

“It was really good,” he says. 

He doesn’t realize until he’s nearly home that he’s forgotten to tidy anything, and there’s only a few sad sales on the books, and he thinks he left his headphones behind on the table when he was scurrying out the door.

\--

Alex narrows their eyes at him.

“Did you grow?”

“No?”

“Why d’you look taller, then? Are we going to have to get you new clothes?”

“I’m committing to crop tops,” Dan says. “D’you want an egg?”

“You’re gonna make me an egg?” Alex repeats, slowly. Dan decides they must be avoiding the revising they’re meant to be doing, just based on the barrage of stupid questions he’s getting.

“I can make eggs,” he says, impatiently. He leaves his shoes by the door and goes to the kitchen, grabbing a pan out of the cupboard and eggs out of the fridge. 

“You only ever eat toast,” Alex snipes. 

Dan cracks two of them straight into the pan and just about manages to smother the whine when half the shell ends up trapped in the egg white. 

“Did you put butter in?” Alex asks, when Dan doesn’t answer their toast accusation.

“I’m not an idiot,” Dan whines. 

He grabs the butter out and tries to close the fridge quietly. Alex doesn’t comment, which is a bloody relief.

_did you know someone almost deleted toy story 2,_ Phil texts.

_what it’s everywhere you can’t just delete it_

_no like when they were making it  
someone almost deleted the whole file_

_oh no  
is this gonna become like a nightmare of yours_

_ya i’m reading about cinema mistakes so i know what to be paranoid about_

_:))))  
love you,_ he types out. He backspaces it. It’s probably too much.  
 _get a hard drive,_ he says instead.

“Is that Phil?”

“I’m making eggs,” Dan says, nonsensical. Alex is giving him that suspicious look like he’s done something stupid again.

“You’re smiling at eggs like that?”

“I love eggs.”

He realizes at the same time Alex does. Their eyes go huge, smiling slow and bewildered. 

“You love eggs, huh,” they repeat. “And not Phil Hazelbot.” 

Dan squirms, turning back and flipping their two eggs over and not yelling when they rip around the edges, because he doesn’t want to admit that the butter may not have gotten under there. He doesn’t think he does a very good job of biting back his smile.

“You absolute sappy bastard.” 

“I’m not!” 

He can hear how squeaky and ridiculous it comes out. Alex laughs somewhere behind him, clicking the eraser bit on their pencil like they’ve gone a bit twitchy.

“You’re so – you _soft_ boy. Ooooh, Danny Howell hasn’t got any room for that in his life, no, he’s so tough. He’s so bitter and you can tell how tough and grim he is by how he talks to Phil for one morning and now he’s smiling at eggs like a clown,” Alex narrates. “I’ve never seen anything like this shit in my life, you’re in so deep.”

Dan has to catch his whole bottom lip between his teeth to stop the extremely incriminating giggle that’s threatening to escape. He puts both the eggs on one plate and takes them to the table.

“I’m in shallowly,” he says sternly. “And I’m not sharing these if you’re going to bully me.”

“You’re in love.” It sounds like an accusation, but Dan’s just – a mess. He’s gone all warm and wiggly, like – 

“I feel like an egg yolk,” he blurts, poking at one and making a vague move to spar with Alex’s fork. 

“Uh-huh.” Alex smirks. They don’t even ask him to elaborate. “What’d he say?”

Dan stuffs a bit in his mouth, just to have a reason for not telling them, but then – apparently his mouth does want to tell them, anyways, and it’s not really up to his brain.

“He keeps coming to the shop and bringing me a coffee,” he says, once he’s mostly not talking with his mouth full. “Like, he wakes up early just to do that? Um, and he said he talked to his – like, his mum and his brother and his mate from home, and they’re worried but – oh, his therapist told him he likes me. And that it’s – there’s good stuff, maybe. It could be alright.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, easily. They’ve dropped the expectant look, and they just seem – terrifyingly sincere, for a moment.

“So,” Dan hums, reaching for another bite.

“So?”

“He said he needs to learn how to talk first –”

Alex snorts, and Dan grins, shaking his head a bit. It does seem like sort of an insane challenge now that he’s not looking at Phil’s face, not dazed from how overwhelmed he is.

“– but – I think he wants to try.”

“And you want to try, obviously.”

Dan is about a thousand percent certain that he’s blushing more than he’s ever blushed in his entire stupid life. “Yeah, obviously,” he mumbles. “I mean, duh.”


	25. Chapter 25

“D’you ever feel like your skeleton is too heavy?”

Phil’s tapping away at something. His forehead is creased like he’s focused on work, which – is good. It’s supposed to be good. 

A little part of Dan wants to bolt over there and squish himself into Phil’s space and devour all of his attention and generally be exasperating, but he’s the one who insisted on facetiming from a few blocks away, so Phil could do his work without distractions. 

Or – well. Just the distraction of Dan mumbling nonsense into the couch cushion, voice crackling over their shitty internet connection.

“Yeah, definitely,” Phil says. “I don’t really like having a skeleton, you know? It just feels like we could be jelloid. It’s inefficient to carry bones around.”

Dan feels a giggle bubbling up in his chest. He squashes his face into a pillow for a minute, trying to will himself into being _normal_ somehow. Phil’s jokes are not that funny. Dan doesn’t even know if he’s trying to be funny half the time, which makes his deadpan complaints about the human body and how it compares poorly to jellyfish even –

“I know you’re laughing,” Phil crackles. He sounds more than a bit smug.

“Am not.”

“Yeah? You’re just face down in a pillow making weird noises?”

_“Phil,”_ he whines, all squeaky. “Fine.”

There’s more tapping. 

“I think I would be a great octopus,” Phil says, very serious. “I’m scared of parties. I can’t remember where my legs are. I played the part of a rock in a school play in primary school.”

“You like fighting crabs,” Dan offers. 

“Definitely. _Super_ mean to crabs, that’s Phil. And my head is huge. Have you ever noticed that? It’s like I’m trying to keep an octopus brain in a human skull. My auntie has to custom make me hats because people hats don’t fit me.”

Dan squeaks. It’s embarrassing as fuck, but he pops an eye out from behind his pillow and Phil’s smiling, like maybe he likes making Dan laugh and doesn’t care if it comes out sounding absolutely weird.

“I like when you talk,” Dan whispers. 

He’d woken up so tired. Phil had offered to come over while Alex was at the shop, and they’d had a whole awkward exchange about how he really needed to work and how Dan wasn’t feeling that down, anyways, just a bit fuzzy around the edges. He’d felt weird about even facetiming, like he was imposing on Phil’s time, even when Phil was trying to harass him into doing it.

It’s not like Phil can fix everything, but – it’s ridiculous how survivable everything feels, as long as Dan’s got him on the other end of a crackly connection, spouting off bullshit. 

“I like talking to you,” Phil says, easily, tapping some more. 

_It’s just better when you’re here,_ Dan thinks. He clamps his mouth shut so that thought can’t escape, squashes his face back into the pillow.

“D’you need a nap?”

“Yeah,” Dan mumbles. “I can say goodbye so you can work.”

“Just tell me goodbye and then we can hang out until you start snoring, then I’ll hang up.”

It sounds like a ridiculous plan, if he thinks about it. He doesn’t. He wants to sleep and he wants Phil to be there, and they’ve slept together so many times that he isn’t going to dither about whether it’s weird to want that again. 

“Okay. Bye Phil.”

“Bye Dan. Have fun on the moon.”

\--

He wakes up to Alex bumping the door open.

“Phil’s a witch,” he tells them, sleepy. He doesn’t remember exactly why he knows that, just that he’s halfway trapped in a dream where Phil is a witch, and it certainly feels true. Alex settles on the edge of his bed. 

“Is that true, Phil?”

“Yeah, I’m a witch,” he hears a little staticky voice say. He forgot Phil was there, but he makes a little pleased sound anyways, shifting vaguely in Alex’s direction.

“Did I snore?”

“In a nice way.”

Dan thinks he hears Alex snort, but – he’s so busy being pleasantly warm, and stretching his arms out, and shoving his face into his pillow again.

“I’m gonna go revise,” Alex tells him, already getting up again. 

Dan’s all bleary. He feels a bit put out at being left alone. Alex has to revise, obviously. It just seems unfair in a vague way.

It’s weird how much he’s grasping at things, now. How much he _wants,_ towards Phil but also just – towards Alex, too, if he lets himself be honest about the depth of that weird loneliness he feels sometimes, even when they’re sitting ten feet away.

“You talk in your sleep,” Phil says, breaking into his drowsy little tantrum.

“Oh no.”

“You told me that Sinistea should be a water Pokemon because it’s full of juice.”

“Oh _no,”_ Dan whines. 

“I said it was full of tea and you said no, that’s oranges soup,” Phil continues, cheerfully. He’s still clicking at something, tapping out a little staccato rhythm like he’s a telegram operator.

Dan groans. “Why were you arguing with a sleeping person?”

“I just wanted to get the facts.”

“Ugh,” he mumbles. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to sleep more. Phil taps away some more, until the time starts to fade and the little sounds from his keyboard start to muddle.

He wakes up to – something. It sounds a lot like Phil, for a minute, but there’s two Phils. One’s too loud, and then he hears the other Phil hush that one, and both of them drift off into the distance. Dan feels a bit – crazy, for a moment, like he’s losing his grip. He stares at the blurry shape of his wall.

“Sorry,” Phil says. “My brother –”

“There’s not two Phils.”

Phil pauses. Dan’s eyes are all gummy and he can’t quite make out his expression, but he laughs a bit before he starts talking again.

“No, just one,” he agrees. “My brother asked if I could go film for a friend of his. Um, I don’t have to, but –”

He trails off. Dan feels a rush of – protectiveness, and jealousy, and just – garbage innards. 

“I can stay,” Phil says, quickly. Dan thinks he must have pulled a face.

“No.” His voice is all rough and sleepy, still. “No, no, go hang out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It doesn’t feel like _of course_ anything, but Phil launches into trying to explain where he’s going, and moaning about his brother’s thing, and trying to list Martyn’s random friends that he’ll have to say hi to. By the time he’s petered out, Dan’s finally blinked his way into the land of the living.

“At least it’s not laptop work,” Dan offers. 

“Yeah,” Phil says. He still sounds glum, but he flashes a smile, wide and bright. “Yeah, that’s true. Bye, Dan.”

\--

“Hi?” Alex says, glancing up from their laptop.

“Your glasses are stupid.”

“Did you come over here just to tell me that?”

Dan plops down on their bed. He hugs his pillow to his chest like it’s his own hermit crab shell, nodding a little.

“Danny,” Alex starts.

“It’s fine. Can I stay here, though? My room is like – empty. It’s weird.”

Alex considers that for a beat too long. Dan can’t really parse if they’re annoyed at the idea, but he’s tired and doesn’t want to roll it around in his head much longer. He thinks they would probably tell him if they wanted to be alone. 

“You’ll let me in there when I come to sleep, right?”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees easily. Probably too easily, considering how he tends to starfish.

“Alright, needy,” Alex says. Normally he’d cringe, but – the way they say it is so mild, with a little smile. He doesn’t think they really mind.

\--

_do you have an egg?_

_like a pokemon egg,_ Dan asks.

_no egg egg  
bird egg_

_chicken egg?_

Phil types for a while, long enough to be a bit ominous.

_hopefully,_ he finally replies.

Dan hasn’t actually gotten out of Alex’s bed or checked the egg situation, but he’s pretty confident in his egg guessing.

_i think we have one  
why_

_i’m a hungover old man and M forgot groceries  
shouldn’t steal your only egg though_

_get here  
its like egg socialism  
egg redistribution  
redistribution of egg wealth  
karl egg_

Phil pops up as a typing bubble again.

_every time phone buzz my head falls out my ear_

_:))  
come over ill try to be quiet_

_okay_

Dan tumbles out of bed faster than his brain seems to expect, swaying a bit when it sloshes sideways in his skull. He goes to his room and digs out a random shirt that he’s pretty sure was black, but is now a weird faded gray color. He almost puts on jeans, and then detours to trackies at the last moment. Phil probably doesn’t care if he’s dressed to go somewhere.

He practically scurries when Phil texts that he’s outside.

“Hi, hi, good morning.”

Phil squints at him from behind his glasses. “Outside – is where the sun is,” he says, solemnly.

“Oh, that is a problem,” Dan says, making an effort to lower his voice like he’d promised. He steps back to let Phil in, and shuts off the living room light as well. “Were you meant to be drinking on the job?”

Phil pulls a face. “I gave up.”

“Oh no.”

“Mm.”

“Still want that egg?”

Phil pauses like he’s either considering it, or he’s just gone to visit a different universe in his head. Dan isn’t exactly sure. He squints into the dim light in the living room, hair pushed haphazardly out of his eyes. He looks completely lost, for a moment.

“I’ll die,” he mumbles.

“Okay. We don’t want that.”

Phil nods, seriously. “Thank you for the egg communism though.”

Dan leads him to the couch, and Phil sinks down easily enough, tucking himself into the corner he’s always liked. 

“Are you gonna barf on my couch?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so,” Phil says, which isn’t reassuring at all. “I just have a headache and the sun is – big.”

Dan laughs, tries to contain it into a weird little snort. “Sure is,” he agrees. Phil nods solemnly, and his eyes slip closed. His face finally relaxes into something more peaceful.

Dan thinks he could leave and go – find something to do. Instead he just finds himself watching Phil, worried that he’ll keel over or something. It’s not reasonable at all. It’s not like he worries this much over Alex, and god knows he’s kicked Callum out of this same building in the same state and told him he’d be fine to take the tube, probably, maybe. 

Phil’s just – he’s different.

“Was it fun?”

He doesn’t know why he’s interrupting Phil’s nap with inane questions. Phil makes a little whining noise, like he really is being annoying, but he starts mumbling anyways. It’s all a bit – disconcerting, with the way Phil is talking with his eyes shut. 

“Boring,” he says. “I hate it.”

“Why’d you go?”

“Used to like it.”

“Oh,” Dan says, uncertain. He can’t quite picture that.

Phil’s got his nose scrunched up all funny, when Dan glances over. For a moment he worries he’s going to –

“I used to like it,” Phil says again, steadier. “I think it was – something to do, though. Like, really grownup, to use my degree and be with my brother in all these places and not just be – a wandering slag.”

“A wandering slag?” Dan repeats, vaguely awed. Phil shrugs. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

“No one wanted to date me,” he says. “Gets boring waiting.” 

Dan can’t even really imagine how that’s true. Phil’s shy and a bit of a nut to crack, sure, but he’s – kind, and he’s fit, and he can take a joke. He’s a lot of things, if Dan’s honest. He’s trying to be honest now. 

Phil’s so matter of fact when he says it, though.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Dan argues. The idea that Phil might still have that in his head hurts a bit, physically. He gets a rush of adrenaline that makes his hands go funny with how much he could fight the world over every little slight it’s given to Phil over the years.

“Whatever.” 

_I want to date you,_ Dan almost blurts. _You can’t think it’s no one if I want to._

“Phil –” he starts, even though he doesn’t know where he’s going with the rest of the sentence yet.

“It’s fine,” Phil says quickly, cutting him off. “It’s – we talked about it. I talked about it, um, in therapy. I just – I get really anxious and sometimes people are doing their own thing and it’s not about me but it’s – it’s hard not to think they’re looking at me like I’m a freak, sometimes.”

“You are,” Dan blurts. “A little bit. You wanted pizza ice cream.”

It’s probably not the right thing to say. It’s _definitely_ not the right thing to say, if he thinks about it for a minute, definitely not that cool to confirm the thing Phil’s scared of.

Phil laughs, anyways, just a soft little thing. His eyes blink open, sleepy and worried. Dan lets a sigh of relief whistle between his lips. 

“Thanks,” Phil mumbles. “Yeah. Um. It was just hard, at uni. I think – I thought being out would be really different. I thought it would be better at uni, like the world would be my lobster, and it’s – it’s not that easy.”

“I get that.”

“Yeah?”

Dan thinks it’s an invitation to – talk, more. He’s said a bit, though. He doesn’t know what else he would say, and he doesn’t really want to put that on Phil, even if he’s inviting it.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He doesn’t follow that thread. “I’m sorry I said you’re a freak, two minutes ago. I changed my mind.”

“I don’t feel like that, with you.”

Dan lets the absurd smile out, as soon as he feels it bubbling to the surface. He knows he makes fun of Phil all the time, and he hasn’t been the best at behaving himself, and maybe he would deserve it if Phil decided that he was too mean and argumentative and unreliable. 

It’s just – that’s not what Phil’s saying. Phil’s curled on his couch with a scowl and a headache, telling Dan that he’s comfortable here. That Dan isn’t _too much_ for him right now.

He worries that his cheeks are going to crack in half, for a moment. 

“I’m glad,” he manages to mumble, all squeaky. 

He can’t tamp down the grin before Phil cracks his eyes open, gives him a sleepy look with his eyebrows raised like he’s trying to keep his eyelids open by sheer force. He smiles, slow and shy. Dan’s insides melt into disgusting goop. 

“I’m trying to learn English,” Phil says, very seriously. 

Dan clamps his lips between his teeth and nods. He tries to ignore the way his dimples are caving in so hard he can feel it. “That would be great. I’d love to talk to you in the same language some time.”


	26. Chapter 26

“I spent ten extra pounds on this, so if you fuck this up for me, I am actually going to kill you.”

“You’re dramatic,” Dan says, kicking vaguely in the direction of their shins. “I’m good at this.”

“I don’t want to die,” Phil says at the same time. He sounds all – plaintive, like it’s just his destiny to get murdered over this. Alex whirls on him, hands on hips and a dramatic scowl on their face. For a moment Dan’s heart stops, worried he’ll have to watch Phil shrink back, but then Phil’s giggling, sticking his tongue out like a horrible child. Alex beams.

“I’d only kill Danny,” Alex decides.

“Phil’s too adorable to kill. Like a little rabbit,” Dan says.

“People breed meat rabbits. I thought about it, when I had hamsters.”

Alex gives both of them an odd look. Dan glares back, pulling a face that’s – he thinks he remembers doing it when he was briefly the understudy for the mean witch character in a play at age ten. He doesn’t know why that’s stuck with him.

“What?” Dan demands, when Alex fails to go back to getting the ingredients out of the bag. 

“He’s talking about raising hamsters for meat,” they say, pointing at Phil. “And you’re telling me you think he’s adorable?”

“Phil’s wonderful,” he says, smugly. 

He doesn’t know why he’s smug about it. It’s not like Alex and Phil aren’t just as much friends, but – he _feels_ smug. Something in his chest goes a bit fragile when he realizes how protective and weirdly jealous he’s being, like he has some kind of claim on Phil’s existence when Phil – hasn’t asked for that.

Phil headbutts him, soft hair followed by a humongous thick skull.

_“Why,”_ Dan yelps. 

“I asked for the butter eight times,” he says. His arm is reaching wildly across the counter, and Dan barely avoids taking an elbow to the stomach. 

“You’re too quiet and polite, Phil.”

“No, _you_ haven’t got your ears on planet Earth,” Phil argues.

Dan grabs the butter on instinct. He holds it above his head like he used to do to his brother, even though Phil’s about ten times taller and has significantly better resources. Phil jumps to try to get to it, and mostly ends up squashed along Dan’s front, bouncing off of his chest every time he hops. He somehow manages to grab Dan’s sleeve more than anything.

“This is exhausting,” Alex mumbles, somewhere in the distance.

Dan grins. Phil whines and jabs at his sides, then, and snatches the butter away when Dan crumples to try to protect himself.

“You’re mean.”

“I forgot you’re a younger brother,” Dan says, very seriously like he’s a primary school teacher. “You should work on learning about patience. That’s what adults do. It’s very useful, Philip.”

“Nope, I won’t.” Phil’s already working on tearing the butter wrapper into useless shreds, plopping apparently randomly sized gobs of butter into the bowl. 

“Are you measuring?”

“No one measures.”

Alex lunges and grabs the spatula that’s dangling from Phil’s hands. Dan scoots sideways, wedging Phil into their grasp so he can’t escape. Phil manages to hang on for a minute, but he’s giggling before he’s even properly pinned in, and his weirdly clumsy fingers can only do so much. 

“Get him,” Alex urges, tugging on the spatula again. Dan gets an arm around Phil’s middle and tugs, squishing him until Alex gets the spatula completely free. Phil wiggles and kicks at Dan’s shins.

“Horrible boy!”

“You just said I’m adorable,” Phil mumbles, going limp and sulky.

“I’m done,” Alex says. Dan’s got a facefull of Phil’s hair in the way and can barely see, but he hears a clatter as they herd all of the ingredients into their corner of the counter. Phil giggles like he was just out to cause havoc the entire time. 

“I can help,” Dan says.

“No. No, you keep that dangerous little man away from this.”

\--

_get me out of here  
they brought a whole preschool class to visit me  
why would you bring twenty toddlers and one adult to an ice cream shop i literally hate this i hate a preschool teacher im a cynical monster_

_do you want one more preschooler?  
:)_

_NoooOOOOOOOoooOOO  
NO  
whats wrong with you  
where are u even gonna GET a preschooler phil_

_i just want ice cream but okay_

_wait  
youre the preschooler  
no wait yes please visit sorry  
i’m off in an hour do you wanna go to the park?_

_yeeeeeeee_

_you really are a preschooler_  
lol  
see you soon 

_see you soon!!!_

\--

Phil’s early, but he somehow comes towards the shop from the opposite direction, looking a bit surprised when he finally spots the door. Dan already has two scoops out in cups, with the spoons sticking out all jauntily. He has to bite back a smile when Phil comes in. He can feel that he’s gone all warm and red, and Sarah’s staring at him, which only makes it worse.

“Are you ready?” he asks Phil, trying to sound light, even though he realizes as he says it that it’s insane to ask Phil if he’s ready, when Dan’s the one that still has to take his apron off.

Phil flashes him a wide smile, anyways, reaching to take his cup when Dan hands it to him. 

“I’m always ready to eat ice cream.”

\--

“This grass is weird. What’s the deal with your mum?”

Dan blinks. “Are those related?”

“What?”

“The grass and my mum?”

“Oh, no,” Phil says. He pops another spoonful in his mouth and gives Dan a vague little smile that’s somewhere between _you’re dim_ and _I’m dim._ “I was just telling you about the grass.”

“And then my mum popped into your head?”

Phil huffs, a bit. “Yeah, I’m always thinking about her. No. I – uh. The emotions guy –”

“The emotions guy,” Dan repeats, incredulous. 

Phil waves the little spoon at him like he’s thinking about smacking Dan in the face with it. “Daniel, _listen._ He said – that I shouldn’t make you answer, but like – I should ask, in case you want to?”

“Is this that whole communication bullshit?”

It’s too quick; he says it before he can really think. He cringes. It’s not helpful of him to just blurt out stupid little jabs when Phil is trying so hard to get better at this whole thing. It doesn’t matter that he’s sulky about his own issues. 

“Sorry,” he blurts before Phil can say anything. He fidgets for a moment, looking down and fussing at a chip in the beige-y nailpolish he put on a week ago. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Phil says, all gentle and soft and kind and – a lot of things that Dan still finds hard to accept as genuine, sometimes. 

When he looks up, Phil’s giving him that wide-eyed look like he’s the most interesting person on earth. Like he’s actually paying attention, and like Dan’s actually worth listening to. Dan feels the rush of anxiety dissipate.

“She tries really hard,” he mumbles, picking idly at his nail again, just to have something else to focus on. “Like, really hard, I think. I just – the whole thing with – like, you know.”

“Yeah,” Phil says. He sounds a bit uncertain, but – Dan can’t follow that path much farther than that.

He sticks another spoonful in his mouth, blatantly procrastinating. He doesn’t think Phil will judge. It’s like all the thoughts pile up in his brain, through, flinging themselves against the flimsy barricades he’s managed to shove them behind. 

There’s just something about Phil asking to see them.

“Uh,” he starts, not even entirely sure what he’s going to say. “We used to always gang up on my dad and my brother? Like, we were really close, and she’d try to talk to me, and stuff, like I wasn’t just an idiot kid. I mean, she still does. She still tries. We talked a lot, but with – all that. It just got weird, because she’d tell me to just ignore those kids, and it was – I tried, but – I mean, they were right, weren’t they? I just got sucked into, like, lying to her and acting like it didn’t mean anything, what they were saying, but they were – they just weren’t oblivious. Not her fault for being the dim one, I guess, but. We just – stopped talking.”

Phil’s quiet. He just watches, wide-eyed and sort of sad, but not in a way that feels like pity, just – like understanding, maybe. Dan thinks maybe he would shy away, normally, but – it’s just Phil. His lips twitch like he’s going to talk, and then he doesn’t, and Dan finds that he isn’t scared of what he might say once he’s done processing. 

“I think it’s just a bad association, now,” Dan blurts. It’s like he has some kind of weird momentum. “With home and everything. I don’t want to go backwards and be that kid again, but then it’s – I mean, I thought – like when I moved here – I thought I would just be a different person and I’d be, like, brave and shit? Like tell everyone before they could tell me, and be – you know. Whatever. But sometimes I think I’m just a taller version of that stupid kid, instead, and that’s – I mean. Sort of a bad carnival prize, after all that, I guess. Not to be bitter,” he finishes, awkwardly. 

He thinks he might have said a real sentence, somewhere in there. Maybe.

“Like a dead goldfish,” Phil says. 

In retrospect Dan has no idea how he followed the tangled thread of disappointment, or why he replied with the _most_ grim thing possible instead of anything comforting, but he’s surprised into laughing, too loud for the quiet park.

“Sorry.” Dan covers his mouth with his hand and has to mumble through his fingers.

“My fault,” Phil says, with a sheepish smile. “I don’t think you’re like a dead goldfish.”

“Oh, wow, thanks.”

Phil probably doesn’t deserve how sarcastic and exasperated it sounds. Dan basically led him there and then laughed when he followed. Phil shrugs, anyways. His smile shifts into something softer, so open and genuine that it almost pains Dan to look at.

“I think you’re really good,” Phil says, quietly.

Dan’s gripped, for a second, by how much he wants to just tuck himself into his arms and make Phil squeeze him until he’s pulp. He lets himself tip towards him for a moment, but – they’re in the park, still. It wouldn’t actually fix anything. He wouldn’t come out of that feeling any more settled. He bounces his shoulder against Phil’s and then reels back, instead.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, lamely. Phil’s still staring at him. 

“Um, I’m still really bad at talking. But you’re – you’re a live goldfish at least, I think? You’re not – there’s nothing wrong with you. I think you might even be one of those fancy ones.”

Dan gets a spoonful of ice cream and chomps down on the spoon with a little more aggression than necessary, trapping it between his teeth for a minute and glaring down at the dregs of his cheesecake ice cream.

“You could be one of those ones where it looks like the brain is sticking out of it’s head? D’you know what I mean?” Phil says, when Dan’s zoned out in cheesecake world and doesn’t answer. 

“Are you saying I’m freaky?”

Phil makes a face. “You’re a little freaky. But in a cool way. Like in a – good, uh, like your brain is hanging out of your head, but you’re a very cool, collectible fish.”

“Everyone can see how gay I am because my brain is falling out of my skull,” Dan mutters gloomily, patting the top of his head for emphasis. “That would explain a lot.”

It feels a little bit too true. 

Phil reaches out with a laugh, anyways, carefully tracing a finger in the air around Dan’s forehead. “Here’s the super gay shit. Over here –” he pauses, tracing a spiralling shape over Dan’s ear “– for storing pasta-related information. This bit up here is just a raincloud full of Ribena and sadness. This is for texting your grandma instead and ignoring the rest of us. Mmm… this here is for being cute, I’m pretty sure?”

Dan flails, suddenly, shoving an elbow in Phil’s direction and then veering away, scrunching his chin into his neck. He’s all – warm, and probably blushing. It’s not like Phil hasn’t said it before, but it feels closer and bigger every time, like they’re inching towards something. 

“My nana doesn’t _text,”_ he argues, flustered. 

Phil laughs, swatting aimlessly at Dan’s flailing limbs for a moment. He manages to catch Dan’s hand in his own, a full minute too late, and then he’s scrambling to his feet and tugging for Dan to follow. 

“What?”

“We’re going on an adventure.”

\--

“This?” Dan demands.

Phil shrugs. “I wanted you to visit your family,” he says, leaning in to stare at one of the tanks. “This is like a family reunion.”

Dan squishes his face up, sticking his lips out and sucking his cheeks in between his teeth, just long enough to make Phil laugh. 

“The brains ones look even more fucked up than I remember.”

“I love them. You’re mean.”

“I’m not mean.”

“I want to touch one.”

“You can’t touch a fish, Phil, that’s –”

“I want to feel its little head,” Phil whines. 

“– fish harassment.”

Phil huffs. His nose is almost touching the tank, for a moment, all wide eyed like a kid in front of the shark tank at an aquarium, and not a grown man staring into a tiny little box full of weird goldfish. He turns to Dan just long enough to give him an extremely flippant eye roll.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that fish are deprived of being pet, but we pet dogs all the time? Maybe its ears are itchy. That’s fish neglect, and you’re just arguing for – depressed fish.”

“I’m pro fish depression,” Dan agrees. “Representation at last.”

Phil looks a bit sheepish when he looks back, eyebrows knitted together in a way that’s almost quizzical.

“Sorry,” he says, uncertain. “I used to come here on the way to the shop, but it’s – I guess that’s weird.”

“You know you can get one and put it in your house, right? And then you can just watch it there?”

“I live on a couch,” Phil says. His fingers flutter against his thighs, landing with a little pattering sound. “Can’t make a fish live on the couch with me, I’ve heard.”

Dan has half a mind to ask where on earth he’s heard specific rules on that, but – he can hear the frustration behind it, even if Phil’s burying it under layers of that funny matter-of-factness that takes ahold of him sometimes.

Dan glances over his shoulder, for a moment. There’s only the one girl working at the counter, and he’s pretty sure she’s too short to see over the shelves of pet supplies. He leans over, reaching to where Phil’s still crouched in front of the fish, and catches a bit of his hair between his fingers, tugging until Phil whips around with a big dramatic scowl.

_“Hey,”_ he stage whispers, whacking at Dan’s hand. 

“We’ll get you one some day,” Dan tells him. “So you can harass your _own_ fish, how does that sound?”

\--

“Do you ever leave pet stores and just think that they think that you like – stole a hamster and put it in your pocket? If you didn’t buy anything?”

“Oh, yeah,” Phil says, vaguely. He’s staring at a tree with a look that Dan absolutely cannot even begin to parse, like he’s – evaluating it as a habitat as they walk past.

“Yeah?”

“You know that episode of that thing?” Phil asks, instead of answering the original question.

“I don’t.”

“This guy – the main guy – he has a crush on the girl at the pet store, so he buys a goldfish every week just to visit her, but they’re on sale, buy two get one free, so he has like – a million goldfish at the end.”

Dan pauses. He can never tell if Phil is making the connection he’s expecting, or if he’s just off in his own version of the universe, but –

“Phil,” he starts. 

Phil goes quiet for a minute, but Dan thinks he catches him smiling up at the tree, tipped away like he thinks he can’t get caught if he doesn’t look back.

“Don’t get a big head,” he tries to snap, but it’s ruined by the way he giggles and barges into Dan’s space like a big horrible bumper car.


	27. Chapter 27

“Is this a date?”

Dan startles. Phil’s perched on the counter, being completely useless and taking up precious space with his butt. Dan managed to wedge a bowl in next to him at some point, and he did – add olive oil and pepper and salt to the normal sauce, so – that’s sort of fancy and weird, he thinks.

“How d’you know what a date is?” Dan asks, suspicious.

“Me? I’ve seen them before in movies.”

Dan sputters. “Not you, specifically. Just – like in general? What’s the rules? Aren’t you supposed to be out of the house? If you’re just sitting on my counter eating the same pasta – is that anything?”

“Would you want to go out?”

Dan turns back to the water, stirring the pasta clumps around, again, even though he just did that a minute ago. It gives him something to look focused about.

“No,” Dan says, slowly. “I don’t know.”

It’s fucking stupid, really. It’s not like he and Phil haven’t gone out to the park or – to the flower show, where Phil _bought him flowers,_ for fuck’s sakes. It’s not like mates never go out for dinner. They could go and just pretend to be fancy art people who have to have a meeting in a quiet booth, and they could disappear into the night as they leave the restaurant, and it wouldn’t matter at all to anyone that they might or might not have been on a date.

Probably, anyways. He’s lost his grip on what other people do and don’t care about.

“The thing is that restaurants are sort of stupid,” Phil says, somewhere over Dan’s shoulder. “You have to go and remember where your napkin is and act all normal, and then they charge you a million pounds to eat some weird thing that’s – bad, and then they give you a blue drink with milk in it you can just make at home anyways, and maybe you’d fart less if you picked the ingredients, but you can’t tell the bartender that?” 

Dan struggles to keep track of both the spoon in his hands and the thread of Phil’s side of the conversation, for a minute, almost dropping one and then the other.

“Blue – milk? Blue _milk?_ Phil, what?” 

Phil shrugs. “My brother loves weird stuff.”

The timer dings, and then Dan’s busy trying to find the potholders that Alex keeps losing, dumping the pasta into the colander and the contents of the colander into a bowl. It takes him a minute to look up, but when he does – he halfway expects to see something forced and plastic on Phil’s face. He expects something that tells him that Phil’s just giving in, saying whatever Dan wants to hear to placate him.

Instead he gets that look that’s half vague and half mischief, like Phil’s pulled a prank on someone but he isn’t sure who yet. Dan frowns, and it just gets wider.

“Going out is dumb. Just let me sleep in your bed,” Phil says.

“This is a date,” Dan blurts, suddenly brave and bossy. “You just have to have food, I think. And – like, want it to be a date, you can’t just trick people, obviously that’s – weird, if that happens. There has to be like – an agreement, but –.”

Phil shrugs just before he hops off the counter, which isn’t exactly an agreement, but he’s smiling, catching Dan’s eye for a moment before he swipes his bowl off the counter and gets too involved in pasta world to remember what they were talking about. Dan hopes that’s enough to count.

\--

“You really want to stay here?” Dan mumbles, sleepy. 

Phil’s been wandering along some tangent about the origins of the words for bread rolls. Sometimes he’ll stumble to a stop, blushing, but as soon as Dan shows the slightest interest he’s off again, saying things like _etymology_ and _Indo-European_ in a way that makes it seem like he remembers way more than he’ll admit to.

Dan really is interested, but he’s been sinking further and further into the sofa cushions, head lolling back and sideways like he’s deflating. Phil’s soft voice just does something to him, he thinks. 

There’s a dull jabbing on his thigh, and it takes him a second to sort out that it’s Phil kicking at him. Phil smiles when he glares.

“I’d love to,” Phil says, all soft. 

“I don’t know, actually. You kick in your sleep, too,” he mutters, but he’s already standing by the time he’s finished saying it. He holds a hand out to Phil, and Phil takes it. 

\--

Phil barges into the bathroom on the way to bed, like he thinks he fucking belongs there. He grabs the toothbrush that Dan never had the heart to move, bumps his hip against Dan’s a few times while he brushes his teeth. He hums a little nonsense song that’s completely out of tune. Dan scowls at him around his own toothbrush when it turns into a bizarre _reeeee_ sound at the end, when Phil loses control of a high note, but Phil just giggles and bonks their shoulders together.

“Get out, I have to pee,” Dan says, as soon as he’s done spitting.

“I _know,”_ Phil huffs. 

\--

Phil’s just – staring at him. Dan sits up, he stares. He lays down, Phil stares some more. 

The dim light hits his eyes, illuminating the soft blue in a way that makes it feel like they’re the only thing Dan can really see, and he just – keeps gaping at Dan, unblinking, regardless of the sirens outside and the upstairs neighbors thunking around.

“What,” Dan says, quietly.

He expects some type of answer, but instead Phil makes a little noise that he can’t quite understand. He shoves his forehead into the crook of Dan’s neck for a minute, warm and heavy, and then rolls away, pulling his shoulders up to his ears and flopping an arm over his eyes, idly kicking his feet until they’re tangled in the blanket.

Dan sits up a bit, bewildered. Phil’s so _squirmy_ all of a sudden. He’s seen him anxious and frustrated, but – he doesn’t think that’s it. 

“What’s up?”

“Ugh,” Phil mumbles, garbled.

“Are you gonna tell me?”

“Words.”

“You said _entomology_ earlier.”

One of Phil’s eyes pops out from behind his arm, forehead crinkled like he’s sulking all of a sudden.

“That’s bugs,” Phil informs him. “Etymology is me.”

“The study of Phil?”

Phil huffs. Dan thinks there’s a smile tugging at him, even if it keeps wobbling. 

“I could study you,” Dan says, leaning over so he can talk closer to Phil’s ear. He tries to keep it conversational and jokey, but it comes out – sultry, mostly. It almost makes him laugh to hear how stupid it sounds. 

Phil jolts, though, squirming. Dan thinks it’s just the air hitting his face when he wasn’t expecting it. He still hasn’t come back out from behind his arm, stays hiding there like some kind of shy sea creature.

“You’re like one of those eels that lives in a cave.”

“Why’s this hard,” Phil whines in response, nonsensical.

“Why’s what hard?”

Phil pops out from behind his elbow, finally, peering up at Dan.

“Nothing,” he says, with an edge of stubbornness that Dan doesn’t know what to do with.

“Alright, you weirdo.” Dan wiggles his way under the covers, shrugging uselessly when he knees Phil and Phil grumbles at him. 

He lays still for a minute and stares at the ceiling, confused. It’s not like – they haven’t done this before. It’s not like he hasn’t curled up with Phil and fucked around with him and kissed him and slept with him in this bed. It’s all familiar, really. They don’t have a lot of milestones to pass anymore, but it’s just – it’s still different, this time. 

Phil’s rolled part of the way towards him, he realizes. He’s not quite facing Dan, but he keeps looking over his shoulder like he’s waiting for something.

Dan gets the point. He scoots over, tucking his knees behind Phil’s and slipping an arm over his middle, crooking his hand so that his palm can flatten just over Phil’s heart.

_What the fuck._

“What the fuck?” he blurts, too loud.

Phil makes another noise that Dan doesn’t understand, only now with the evidence it seems like – 

He shoves at Phil’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back. Dan pulls away so he can roll into the mattress, and then leans back in, hovering over Phil. 

“Are you gonna die?” he asks, very seriously.

Phil’s huge stupid beautiful eyes stare back. Dan watches his Adam’s apple bob with baffled interest. 

“Phil –”

“No,” Phil manages to mumble.

“Phil, seriously. Hospital?”

Phil stares at him a moment longer, unnervingly still and quiet. Then he’s wiggling again, kicking his feet like he’s just – full of something, all impatient and riled up about –

Oh. 

Dan lunges for him, planting a kiss about where he thinks Phil’s lips might be. He gets a mouthful of his chin, first, but then Phil’s under him and it’s –

It’s so good. 

It’s sloppy, and Phil’s absolutely vibrating with nerves, and Dan doesn’t think their technique is exactly award winning.

Phil makes a little pained noise against his mouth that would’ve scared the bejeesus out of Dan a moment ago, when he thought Phil was dying of a heart attack, but – now he _knows._ Phil’s hands are scrabbling over his back, skittering and tugging almost frantically at the soft fabric of Dan’s shirt. He keeps making soft little needy sounds, like he’s helpless to it. Dan gets the point.

He pulls away after a beat, pressing a softer kiss to his lips now that Phil’s stopped with the flailing. Phil’s breathless, even though it’s only been a few seconds. Dan supposes that makes sense, considering that his heart is still hammering like crazy against his ribs, like it’s just gone off and run a marathon without the rest of his body. 

He ducks his face into the crook of Phil’s neck and waits. They breathe together for a moment, ribs expanding like a pair of bellows, until he’s a bit more sure that Phil isn’t going to literally pass out. 

Dan presses a kiss to the hinge of Phil’s jaw, just as he’s going a bit wiggly again. 

“Please don’t die of a heart attack,” he whispers. “I like you too much. Hey –” He goes back in, kissing along his jaw on one side. “I like you. You’re so good, you’re so fucking good.”

Phil’s – not really saying anything back. Dan has half a mind to freak the fuck out, but Phil catches his eyes for a split second and gives him a wide-eyed nod, swallowing hard. 

“Talking’s bad, right?” Dan asks, quiet. “You’re okay?” 

Phil gapes at him for a moment, but then he nods a bit again. His fingers tangle in the curls at the crown of Dan’s head, tightening enough that Dan feels it. 

Dan hums into it, letting his eyes flutter shut for a second. It’s a bit – much, maybe, but he fucking likes the feeling, the way it tingles down his neck and settles him in a weird pool of endorphins. Phil’s giving him a shy smile when he opens his eyes, like he gets it. 

“You’re awesome,” Dan says, just on the edge of babbling.

He leans in, kissing Phil again. It lasts just long enough that he lets Dan lick into his mouth, and then his breathing goes unsteady and erratic again, limbs squirming like it’s too much at once. Dan pulls away.

Phil blinks his eyes open after a moment, squinting like the dim light is brighter than he can take. His heart is genuinely scaring Dan a little bit. It doesn’t seem like it should stay like that for that long, doesn’t seem right even with Dan’s limited understanding of biology. Phil makes a sheepish face, scrunching his nose up. 

“What?”

Phil shrugs. Dan – flashes back to all the times Phil’s complained about being convenient. About being too needy and too awkward and not anyone’s first pick. It knocks him breathless, to think how few people have gotten to experience Phil like this, genuine and vulnerable and so fucking willing to be loved.

Dan kisses him again, letting Phil set the pace and explore this time. Phil’s careful, and he can’t tell if he’s shy or just overwhelmed. They bump noses more than a few times, but Dan laughs and he can feel Phil’s smile against his mouth. He moves up when Phil pulls away to breathe, kissing over the tip of his nose, over the bridge, over his cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “I’m so lucky.” 

Phil snorts. 

“I’m gonna keep saying it,” Dan argues. He shifts back to study Phil. His eyes are sleepy, eyelids gone hooded. He tugs a bit at Dan’s hair, but it’s idle, now, and his breaths have finally evened into something manageable. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, quiet and deep like it’s an effort. 

“Good?”

Phil nods, chin bumping against Dan’s cheek. He doesn’t let go of Dan, stays glued to him like a koala, but he lets him roll to the side a bit, shifting until he’s fitted himself against Dan’s chest. 

_You could’ve told me,_ Dan almost says, but – he doesn’t think it was an option, really. He swallows that thought at the last second. “Sorry it took me a minute to figure out,” he says, instead. “I really thought we’d have to go to A&E.”

“Please no. Sorry.”

_“I’m_ sorry.”

“I’m glad you can’t.”

“Glad I can’t what? Haul you to A&E? I fucking can, actually, you’re not that heavy.”

“Read my mind. Be a witch,” he mumbles. Dan laughs, a little soft wheeze of air that makes Phil’s mouth twitch into a smile. He should have guessed that one, too, maybe. 

“That’s okay. I don’t think we both need to be in there. It’s not always like this?”

“No. Just – kept thinking about it.”

“About what?”

Phil rolls his eyes, comically expressive considering he’s not much for spoken language. “Kissing you.”

“Since when?”

Phil wrinkles his nose, pulls a face like he can tell that Dan perked right up at the idea that he might get praised for something.

“Since forever.”

“You’ve been riling yourself up about kissing me since forever?”

“You just want to hear that you’re pretty,” Phil whines. 

It’s more words than he’s managed in a bit. His breathing’s gone slow and deep and sleepy, and Dan wiggles, trying to find a spot he can stick with when he falls asleep. He rucks Phil’s shirt up a bit, slipping his hand under and flattening his palm over his heart again, letting the rhythmic thumping sink into his skin.

“No,” he grumbles, entirely caught. “I don’t need to hear it.”

“You want to.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re pretty,” Phil says, with a bit of exasperation. 

“You have to mean it. You can’t just pretend, you have to really believe it.”

Phil tries to scowl at him, but his eyes are starting to slip closed, blinking open for a moment every once in a while, like he’s trying to stick with Dan a minute longer. He grumbles nonsensically, chest vibrating under Dan’s cheek.

“I’m gonna make you talk about this tomorrow,” Dan tells his sleeping face, as sternly as he can manage.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to The Fucking Chapter, one of the only two explicit chapters. Puddle read this and said there's too many dicks in it for it to be rated M but at this point we are simply in too deep. Anyways here is the awkward dick warning which I hope will help for anyone who wants to skip this type of shenanigans!

“Okay, wait,” Phil says as he pulls away. Dan’s bewildered, for a second, but Phil’s looking everywhere, fingers skittering nervously through the air like he’s tracing out dust motes.

“Um?”

Phil lets out a breath, caught halfway between a sigh and a laugh. 

“Talking’s – hard. Talking’s hard. I just get – too invested. Uh.”

“Okay,” Dan says, slowly. 

“Can we talk?” Phil says, quieter. “Sorry, it’s not – that’s not hot, but –”

Dan sits up to meet him, finally. His hand lands on Phil’s shoulder, and Phil slumps into it, instinctual.

For a moment Dan doesn’t know what to do, but he gently squeezes at the crook of Phil’s neck. He doesn’t know if he’s really – supposed to. He doesn’t know if it’s too much, until Phil hums a little low sound, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment. 

He’s so quick to react, so obvious when it comes to physical contact. Dan’s fascinated. He wants to touch and touch and touch until he knows everything. Just – in a minute. He can wait a minute.

“That’s fine,” Dan says, low. “Talk to me?”

Phil squirms, staring fixated at a point over Dan’s shoulder for a minute. His fingers twitch again, like he’s tapping something out into the air. 

“The – with – last time? What can I do?” he manages, caught between little breaths. 

Dan’s fingers go still, searching his face for a minute. Phil looks beautiful, and more than a bit overwhelmed. “So that doesn’t happen?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says, again. He tries to take stock of everything, down to remembering that his toes can wiggle. “I think – I’m doing a lot better, right now, so.”

“Yeah,” Phil mumbles. “But there’s – is that it? Can I – can we – um.”

Dan pauses. He has to rack his brain over that one, sorting out Phil’s soft aimless syllables until it’s a question, and then sifting the useless muddled things in his own head.

“Just – you can stop, like. If I’m being weird,” is all he lands on.

_You’re always being weird_ is what he expects to hear, but Phil just nods a bit, all serious like he’s concentrating on an exam or something.

“You don’t have to – warn me, if you can’t,” Phil says, after a beat. “I get it. But – if you can?”

Dan nods. He doesn’t quite know if it’s allowed, but he just wants to be as close as he can, wants to tuck himself against Phil’s skin the second he gets permission. He sways in closer, holding his breath like he can be a little less conspicuous that way, and maybe Phil will let him stay. 

Phil leans right into it. His arms loop around Dan’s shoulders, reassuringly warm and steady. He still isn’t quite looking at him, but his fingers drift up and tangle in the short curls at the back of Dan’s neck, idly fussing and tugging. Dan breathes out.

“Does it help if you go first?” Phil asks, softer now that Dan’s so close. He can’t tell how much he hears the words and how much is them vibrating against his own skin.

Dan dips his head, idly kissing at the crook of Phil’s neck before he shakes his head, forehead bumping against Phil’s chin. It’s not like he really knows, but he can’t imagine that being hazy and tired would help. 

“Do you want to – like. D’you want me to fuck you? Or the other way around? So it’s – you know.”

Dan pulls back, bouncing up against the little corral that Phil’s arms have made. He makes a skeptical face that he hopes Phil doesn’t take offense at. 

“Do _you_ want to?”

“I’m a busy man,” Phil says, with an edge of exasperation. Dan laughs, flopping his face back against Phil’s shoulder.

“I know I’m basically underemployed and we’re just gonna play Zoo Tycoon after this,” he says. “But who has the time.”

“Not me,” Phil agrees. 

“Have to bother some zebras. Um – are we good?”

“Are you?”

Dan – doesn’t know exactly why he bites down on Phil’s shoulder, for a second, but he gets a delighted little laugh out of Phil and a squeak that sounds like _cannibalism is my job,_ which he decides to ignore. 

“Just keep an eye on me,” he mumbles. “I trust you.”

He feels Phil nod more than he sees it. Phil’s hand is already drifting down the notches of his spine, stopping occasionally to carefully trace one with his thumb.

Phil’s so – he’s so gentle. He’s so purposeful that it hurts Dan’s heart a little bit, to think he missed out on someone so good for so long. He tries to focus on the way Phil’s moving over his skin, so slowly, like he’s trying to learn every little bit of Dan in one go.

“Are you having fun?” he murmurs, tipping in close to suck a kiss under the corner of Phil’s jaw. Phil catches his middle with his arms and traps him, clinging with a little sigh that Dan can feel against his own ribs.

“I love bones,” Phil manages to say after a beat. 

Dan laughs. Phil retaliates by biting his cheek, poking at him with his little sharp teeth until he realizes Dan’s neck is right there and gets entirely distracted.

“Oh – oh no.”

“Huh?”

“Um,” Dan says, garbled.

He damn well sees the way Phil’s eyes flit down his body, before peering at his dick with a certain amount of curiosity.

“Did you – ?”

“No, just – ugh, _no,_ shut up. Just – be gentle.”

“You’re not into vampires?”

“Shut up, please.”

Phil leans in and experimentally swipes his tongue over the side of Dan’s neck, even though Dan just told him it was a lot to handle. Dan gasps into it, whining a bit. It’s awkward and definitely an outsize reaction, but a little puff of air hits his neck, like Phil’s laughing again, and he shivers like it’s a gust of wind.

“Horrible boy,” Dan mumbles, tilting his head so Phil can get in closer. 

It all gets a bit – overwhelming. Phil’s eager now that he’s gotten comfortable again, nipping little bruises into Dan’s skin and giggling when he squirms. He’s warm and solid in Dan’s lap and against his front, still idly playing with the short hair at the nape of Dan’s neck. The feeling is good and weird at the same time, like he’s just everywhere at once. He’s so – present, Dan thinks. There’s no doubt, none of the drifting haziness.

Phil pulls away, staring at Dan’s face for a moment before he leans in again and plants a kiss just under his eye, right at the edge of his cheekbone.

“Still with me?”

“I _can_ come just from that,” Dan blurts. “Uh. Yeah. Still here. Aye-aye captain.”

Phil looks – entirely too interested in that statement for a moment, but he grins anyways. “I’m gonna ignore that,” he says, voice soft and rougher than Dan’s used to. 

“Okay, that’s perfect. I’ll stop talking. If I do talk – uh, ignore me. Pretend it isn’t happening.”

He thinks that’s a pretty good argument, knowing his history. It takes a lot for him to shut up, and when he’s giddy he gets even more reckless. 

Phil just frowns at him, though. One of his arms drops from Dan’s back, making him shiver at the cool air, but then Phil’s pinching the tip of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“I like it when you talk,” he says, narrowing his eyes into a cartoon stern face. 

“No, nope. Nope, I say stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Like I love you.”

He freezes. It’s – too much, he thinks, horrified. They haven’t even _done_ anything, and now Phil won’t want to, because he’s excessive and weird and – says wild shit when he’s trying to give an example of the wild shit he could say.

“Hey,” Phil says, quiet. A fingertip taps along Dan’s neck. 

He squirms at the weird ticklish feeling, tilting his head back so he’s looking right at Phil with his shoulders pulled up to his ears and a grimace on his face.

Phil’s staring back at him. Dan has half a mind to bolt, but Phil’s got that little shy bitten-off smile tugging at his lips, like he already knows Dan can’t deal with more than that much. His heart stutters funny, and then Phil’s kissing him again, pulling back after every few to see if Dan will chase him. 

Dan does, eagerly. 

Phil can barely make out ten percent of a single word, even when he pulls away to breathe, but he’s so _loud._ There’s little soft whines if Dan does something right, and a funny grumbling _huh_ sound when he doesn’t. Dan gets his tongue involved just to see what happens, and he’s rewarded with a sigh and a humming sound like Phil’s a purring cat. 

He’s – enthralled, if he’s honest. He’s always liked touching Phil, seeing how he reacts to the smallest comforts, but he didn’t realize there was so much that he’d never uncovered. 

Dan lets his hands drift from Phil’s shoulders down his back, settling one close around his waist and the other at his hip. His thumb lands over the crease where Phil’s hip meets his leg. 

“Okay?” he says on a breath, barely audible between Phil’s mumbling little sounds. 

Phil doesn’t quite respond, but he shifts his weight, bumping up against Dan’s dick where it’s pressed flat against his stomach. Dan’s fingers squeeze involuntarily. His thumb catches against the soft fabric of Phil’s pants, hooking around the crease of his thigh right at the sensitive bit where his tendons end, at the same time that Dan presses his fingertips into the soft part above his ass. 

Phil squirms, bumping in again and then shivering hard. He breaks away from Dan’s lips, finally, dropping his cheek against Dan’s and letting out a breathless little sigh, like he’s been surprised.

Dan leaves him be for a moment. His dick has taken a renewed interest, but – he can wait, he thinks. He idly presses his fingers where they are, and then dips just under Phil’s waistband, quietly petting at the soft skin while Phil breathes against him. 

He feels something – sticky-warm against his face, and it takes a second for him to realize that Phil’s blushing, cheek still pressed to Dan’s jaw like he can’t bear to go any farther.

“Alright?”

Phil’s quiet for a second. “So loud,” he says, softly. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Words are bad?”

“Mm,” he hums, vaguely in the affirmative. He doesn’t move. 

“I like it,” Dan decides. “I like knowing you like it. It’s hot. Knowing that you’re good and you like it is – like, that’s really hot,” he finishes, lamely. He’s absolutely babbling. “I like it a lot,” he says again, but softer. 

He nips at Phil’s earlobe. Phil yelps, jolting in Dan’s arms and squirming in his lap in a way that’s – enough to cause some reactions.

“Can I –” Dan breathes, suddenly itchy with it. His fingers are already fussing at Phil’s waistband again, but he pauses. 

Phil nods, a tiny little movement.

Dan’s hand is on him before he can think. He breathes out hard as he shifts away from Phil, moving until he can slip his hand between them. He bops the back of his hand against Phil’s dick as he’s clumsily trying to get it free, and gets rewarded with the most ridiculous whine. 

He loves it, but – he laughs, anyways. 

Phil scrunches his nose up. He shoves his way forward in some vague retaliation, making Dan jolt and pinch at the skin on his waist. 

“Don’t laugh at my penis,” Phil says, in his best and most menacing voice.

“Oh, you _can_ talk,” Dan retorts. “But only about certain things that you really care about.”

Phil lunges, but with his teeth this time, chomping on the tip of Dan’s nose and then his cheek. Dan squawks. He tightens his fist, giving Phil one good jerk and flicking this thumb just under the head. Phil startles. His hips jerk up into Dan’s hand like he wasn’t quite aware it was there.

“Piranha boy,” Dan mutters, trying to make it sound like he thinks it’s mean and not hilariously cute.

“Revenge handjob,” Phil says, all affronted. 

He tries to sneak a hand into Dan’s pants, but – Dan’s left handed, and Phil can’t seem to figure out how to get around the arm in the way. Phil bats at his arm for a minute, really giving it a try, but he settles for petting vaguely over Dan’s soft stomach after they’ve bumped into each other one too many times.

Dan twitches. He’s not focused on his dick, really, but he can feel that it’s aching, that the nerves in his shoulders and up his arms have gone electric. 

He speeds his hand up, dipping in to kiss over Phil’s jaw and the funny bump of his nose. Phil curls into him, breathing into the crook of Dan’s neck again, little puffs scattering over his skin.

“Yeah,” he mumbles after a minute, soft and dazed-sounding.

“Okay.”

Phil pulls away again, arching his back and blinking in that funny bewildered way. His hips end up so far into Dan’s lap that Dan’s brushing his own stupid dick every time his hand moves.

Phil’s shivering, a bit, squirming restlessly against the arm around his waist and fucking up into Dan’s fist. He’s – erratic about it in a way that makes Dan wonder if he’s close or just clumsy as hell. 

He finds himself studying Phil. He takes in the little pleading noises, and the way he keeps blinking, eyelids fluttering like he’s lost control of them. He stares at the way his leg muscles move, shifting under the skin, and the way the head of his dick bobs in and out of Dan’s fist, restless and pretty.

He gets lost in just staring, for a moment, but – there’s none of the humming anxiety. He doesn’t stop to wonder if it’s good for Phil, doesn’t wonder if he’s good enough. His heart is hammering, but it’s not about that, he decides. That’s a different thing. 

Phil jerks against his hand again, bumping up against it the side of Dan’s fist with the base of his dick. He lets out a little _ugh_ sound that sounds almost miserable. 

“S’good,” he manages to say between breaths.

His eyes are screwed shut when Dan looks back up, and then he’s spilling over Dan’s hand, sagging into his arm.

“Yeah?” Dan says, nonsensical.

Phil nods, licking at the edge of his lip for a second before he apparently remembers that Dan exists. 

He kisses him, sloppy and ridiculous. It’s like his tongue is just – wandering, Dan thinks. Normally he’d have some questions, if it was anyone else, but Phil’s making those needy little noises again, and – Dan’s maybe too interested in that part.

“Okay, wait, hands –” he stutters out, pulling away and holding up his sticky loose fist as proof. 

Phil frowns at it. He glares down at his pants, too, where it’s sliding down his stomach, pooling weirdly against the fabric in a way that makes Dan wonder vaguely about what the surface tension of come is.

“Stupid,” Phil decides. He doesn’t make any move to get up.

Dan rolls his eyes and wiggles out from between Phil’s legs. He goes to get the paper towels that just happen to be near his bed for innocent reasons, passing a few sheets to Phil and wiping roughly at his own hand until it’s – clean-adjacent, anyways. It’ll do.

He palms his dick absently as he climbs into bed, again. Phil’s mainly made a mess of everything, scattered little wads of paper across his sheets. Dan might be annoyed, some other day, but Phil’s head whips up from glaring down at his own stomach to catch Dan’s eyes, with that cheeky smile pulling at his lips. 

He’s scrambling over and clambering into Dan’s lap before he’s actually managed to sit down, giggling low in his chest when he almost knees Dan in the dick.

“Idiot,” Dan complains. 

Phil’s already mouthing at his neck, and Dan feels him smile. He travels around like he’s fucking with Dan, like he knows how tightly wound he is, with nothing to distract him from just existing and feeling Phil’s lips on his skin. There’s another kiss on his neck, and then one on his jaw, and then another on his lips.

Phil shifts away, after that one. 

Dan shivers from the cold, watching with interest as Phil sinks down to lean over him. He thinks for a moment that Phil’s just going to go straight into it. 

Instead, he gets a hand around Dan’s ankle and tugs at it, pulling until Dan gets the point and straightens his legs, shifting so he can tuck each one back under Phil’s straddled thighs.

He tries to stay sitting up, but Phil surges forward, barely dodges Dan’s waiting mouth as he leans over him to grab a pillow, nearly sends him flying back against it. 

“You’re bossy,” Dan complains. “And a lunatic.”

“Be comfortable,” Phil insists, like it’s an order. He plants a kiss on Dan’s lips, hovering over him for a moment, and then he’s scooting down, trailing them aimlessly over his ribs and stomach. He grabs Dan’s hand at some point, lacing their fingers together.

“Oh,” Dan breathes.

Phil’s eager, more than anything. He starts humming the second his lips are around Dan, like it’s just as good for him. His sense of rhythm is questionable at best. He keeps pulling away with a pop, just to lick a stripe up the side or kiss Dan’s balls, or whatever other little side quest he can find. It’s vaguely exasperating. Dan keeps getting startled, can’t settle into anything before Phil’s off again.

It’s just –

“Oh, shit, shit,” he says. 

Phil’s only just bobbed down over Dan’s dick again, wet and warm and a fucking surprise after a minute of him teasing at the slit with a smug look like he knows it’s not quite enough. 

It rolls through Dan, rocking his hips up to where Phil’s fist has magically appeared, slipping slick through his own spit from a second ago. 

“What the fuck,” Dan manages to mumble. 

The rollercoaster wanders to a stop, eventually. He blinks at Phil, who’s grinning up at him, crinkles around his pretty blue eyes.

Dan – well. He isn’t going to say that just yet.

Phil laughs at his silence. Dan swats ineffectually at his head. “Don’t laugh at my penis,” he parrots.

“I think I’d like to keep laughing at it,” Phil says, with a leer like he’s really propositioning Dan. It’s – the stupidest argument for anything that Dan’s ever heard in his life, he decides, but he’s sleepy and can’t be bothered with reigniting his law career at the moment.

“D’you want a cuddle?” he asks instead.

“Can we just get in the shower?” He’s already sort of sitting up, shifting away from where Dan’s trying to curl into him. Dan’s ribs tighten, for a moment.

“You don’t want to just stay a minute?”

Phil turns back to him with a look that Dan can’t quite parse. It’s like – horror, and worry, and more horror, but Dan doesn’t understand what it’s directed at. He doesn’t think it’s at him, but the longer Phil silently wavers the weirder it gets.

“Fine, just –”

“It’s all slimy,” Phil blurts. 

“Huh?”

“The – like, the come, it’s –”

Dan can feel his eyes going wide. “Don’t you think you played some kind of part in this?”

“It’s _disgusting.”_

“It’s not even touching you. It’s touching me, and I’ll wipe it, Phil –”

Phil shakes his head, quick and emphatic. He has a pained look on his face, like he’s realizing it’s all a bit odd, but he can’t stop himself. 

“It’s sticky,” he says, petulant. “Wiping it doesn’t work.”

Dan’s more than a little baffled, but – Phil’s giving him that sweet earnest look, like he knows he’s being weird, and he also very much wants Dan to tag along with his weirdness.

“Fine. Alright.” He makes a show of groaning, but he manages to roll out of bed without making an absolute mess. Phil’s already darting for the door, peeking both ways before he scurries to the bedroom, like he thinks a home intruder is waiting to catch him naked in a hallway.

“Alex isn’t home,” Dan says, even though he’s pretty sure that Phil must remember that conversation.

“Ghosts love naked people,” Phil informs him, when Dan catches up. “There’s no ghost porn because they can’t be caught on film.”

Dan sputters. “You think – the problem with ghost – wait, you think there’s ghosts? You think ghosts are real and they live here and the problem with them is that they’re sexually –”

“Unfulfilled, yes.”

“Philip.”

“You’re gross still,” Phil says, waving vaguely at Dan’s stomach as he climbs into the tub. Dan has no idea if he’s just trying to distract him, or if he really thinks the ghost topic doesn’t require any more discussion. “You should do something about that.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but he bumps at Phil’s arm until he can get to the water and then the soap, rinsing the worst of it off and idly lathering the just-about-three-good-hairs he’s managed to get trailing underneath his belly button. 

“It’s touching me,” Phil mutters, trying to bump him out of the way. Dan’s life flashes before his eyes, when he realizes he’s in a tub with the world’s clumsiest human being, and the world’s clumsiest human being is also having a tantrum.

“It’s been touching you for _minutes.”_

“Ugh,” Phil says, delicately trying to pick it out of his more-than-three hairs. He pinches at it like he’s trying not to actually touch it.“Ugh, ugh. Ugh I hate it. This – how –”

“Fuck’s sakes, come here,” Dan sighs. Phil’s pulling a face, lips curled back like an angry dog. He barely looks up as he shifts closer to Dan.

Dan gets a bit of soap on his fingertips and squashes it into the soft hair. It’s not like he loves the weird texture of hair and come mixed, but – Phil sighs in something like relief, leaning back into Dan’s chest, and he thinks that’s worth it.

“How do you – like. Mate –”

“Bro,” Phil responds, in a chiding tone.

“– Did you never just wipe it and go to bed? You _always_ shower after?”

“I jerk off in the shower. Like a normal person.”

Dan doesn’t think Phil is in any way qualified to talk about what normal people do or do not do, but he lets it slide, takes a different tack entirely.

“Dear god. That’s so practical.”

“Your mum’s practical,” Phil mutters. He shrieks and squirms when Dan pokes his finger in his belly button.

“I’m helping you,” Dan says, trying to pin Phil against his chest while Phil blindly fails, pinching him under the ribs and then squashing the flat of his hand against Dan’s face until he sputters.

“Crimes. Crimes,” Phil whines, still flailing.

“Whatever, stay sticky, disgusting belly button man. Are you good? Is this – can we get out?”

Phil peers down at his stomach for what Dan would describe as an incredibly distressing amount of time, but he nods, finally, like he’s willing to compromise.


	29. Chapter 29

He wakes up to that familiar clinking sound. 

It’s always the same – the keys rattling in the door, and then the thunking, and then the clinking sound from Alex’s spoon hitting the bowl. 

He has so many memories of that sound. 

Dan stays where he is, for a minute. He listens to the way Alex wanders through the kitchen, putting the milk away and getting water. They always try to close the fridge as quietly as possible, with that soft thump. 

Phil makes a little noise. Dan turns his attention back. 

Phil’s put on the soft jumper that he’d coveted that one night. It’s huge on him, pooling into the pillows around his shoulders, limply wrapping itself around Dan’s skin too. He pets idly at a bit on Phil’s chest, thumbing at the fabric. 

“Lex?” he says, quietly, once Phil’s snoring again.

“Y’wake?”

“Yeah.”

Alex pads in, carrying their cereal and putting a great deal of effort into not dropping it.

A little part of Dan wants to cringe, wants to jerk the blanket over where his legs are tangled in Phil’s, where they’re blatantly just wearing pants. He doesn’t know why, considering. Alex has seen him close enough to this state, seen him curled around Phil on this couch more times than he can count. He settles for poking his big toe into the blanket, just barely. 

Alex gives him a sleepy little smile. They settle on their beanbag, cereal perched precariously in their lap. 

“Y’good?” they ask.

Dan thinks about it, for a moment. Phil’s arm is heavy over his back, settling some feeling in his chest that’s quiet and easy. His own jumper is soft against his skin. Phil’s warm, and familiar, breathing in that steady rhythm that Dan’s taken refuge in so many times now.

“Yeah,” he says, softly. 

Alex nods. They go back to their cereal. It’s so easy, Dan thinks. He carefully settles his cheek back against Phil’s shoulder, lets the familiar clinking and the rise-and-fall of Phil’s ribs lull him into dozing. 

“Night,” Alex says, quiet. 

They stop to ruffle his hair on their way back to the kitchen, even if it’s mostly just a clumsy pat in the general direction of his forehead.

\--

“Be my hype man,” Dan insists. 

Alex gives him a dour look. 

“Hype – uh, overlord.”

“You’re doing so great.” 

Phil’s fingers tap against his thigh. He’s mostly slumped into Dan’s side, allegedly under the argument that he’s checking Dan’s text for typos, but – he keeps yawning and dropping his chin on Dan’s shoulder. He sips his coffee like it takes an enormous effort.

Dan isn’t entirely sure why they let him operate a stove in this state. Whatever. Nothing went up in flames, anyways.

“Hype pal,” Phil says, mostly into Dan’s ear. His voice is so low and soft in the morning, like he’s given up on projecting beyond their little two person bubble. 

“I’m not listening to you, you’re not even awake. You don’t get a vote when you’re dead. Thank god. Imagine?”

Phil giggles. He leans in again, hiding his face in the crook of Dan’s neck for a moment, and Dan thinks he says something about skeleton democratic rights. The front of his shoulder digs into the back of Dan’s, and Dan tips forward to give him space. He reaches up with his hand before he can really think, cupping Phil’s cheek in his hand, scratching idly at the short hair on his temple. Phil hums, soft and drowsy.

“It’ll be fine, Danny,” Alex says. Dan’s startled out of the little universe he’s gone to. He looks up, and Alex doesn’t look like they mind, exactly, but – he knows that expectant look well enough.

“Hype pal,” he says, feeling vaguely sullen. “Final answer.”

“I’m into it.”

“It’s pretty bad.”

“Not up to you,” Alex informs him, all haughty. 

Dan has half a mind to snipe back, for no good reason, but Phil pokes him under the ribs and mumbles something that sounds like _leave it._ Alex grins. Dan doesn’t think it’s directed at him.

“It’s not weird,” they continue, magnanimously ignoring Dan’s little tangent. 

“No?”

“To have a mate crash on your floor on a Friday night? No. I’m pretty sure your mum will just think you’re being incredibly normal.”

“For once,” Phil butts in. Dan flicks him on the forehead.

“What about the part where we forced him into service making eggs? Like, isn’t that – don’t you think – do the… those people –”

“The heterosexuals,” Alex offers.

“Yeah, them. Egg slavery? Or no? Don’t you think that’s a bit – oh.” He pauses. He can feel his own eyes going wide and dramatic. “That’s how my parents met. Wait. Alex. No, that’s literally – mate, they met because my dad slept on my mum’s floor and she made him pay rent in toast. Oh, shit.”

“My parents, too,” Phil agrees. “A million years ago. Muffins, though, I think.”

“Oh, _shit,”_ Dan says again. 

Alex stares back with a look somewhere between horrified and skeptical. 

“Does that mean she’ll think you’re getting married? Oh, are you going to accidentally have a child? Is your text like a pregnancy announcement, technically?”

“Alex,” Dan yelps.

Phil giggles. His arms wind around Dan’s middle, trapping him in close like he’s got to be lassoed or he’ll fly off the handle. He’s probably right.

“You’re the worst hype pal, Alex,” Phil says. “Counterproductive.”

The vibrations hum against Dan’s back. Dan leans into it, curling impossibly closer. He can barely remember why or when Phil scooted his chair this close, but he’s fucking glad it happened.

“Should I just delete it? I can try tomorrow.”

“Mate,” Alex says, patient again like – a coach. Dan doesn’t know. Like a type of teacher that he’s not quite familiar with. “She’s literally not going to see a text like that and make the jump to thinking you’re a massive homosexual.”

“She won’t,” Phil mumbles. 

Dan nods, small. He flicks his phone back open from where it’s gone to sleep while he was having a tantrum, stares down at the text.

_me and my mate phil made eggs, proper adult :)_

It’s fucking stupid. He’s attached a picture of the eggs in question, and mostly it just looks like the sort of rubbish she’s seen him cook before. 

“Doesn’t it seem smug?” he blurts, fingers hovering over the send button. “Like, ooh, I’ve got – something – to be proud of? That’s not the eggs, because actually they do look like shit.”

“Your pictures are bad,” Phil says. “They weren’t even that burnt.”

Alex makes a choking noise that Dan assumes could have been a laugh, if they’d let it. 

They take a minute to recover, and by then Dan’s frowning, because actually Phil should feel proud that he didn’t set them on fire. It’s not his fault they forgot to make the coffee first, or that the coffee maker has a sticky note that says _FUCK OFF PHIL_ on it now.

“It sounds like you’ve got one more friend after two years here,” Alex says, once they’ve recovered. “And that you’re proud of yourself for eating something that isn’t toast, which, I mean – I’m pretty sure your mum remembers that well enough.”

“The great toast era. Yeah.”

“Hit send, Danny, I dare you.”

It’s a stupid argument. Dan finds himself squinting down at it, anyways, like if he doesn’t quite look then it can’t quite exist. He can feel Alex watching him, and Phil’s still slumped with his chin on Dan’s shoulder. He’s pretty sure one of them will notice if he backspaces it and then lies about the whole thing. 

Phil’s somehow got one hand tucked under the hem of his shirt, and his fingers tap erratically at the soft skin. His arms are still snug around Dan, clinging to him in a way that’s reassuringly steady and insistent. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, taps blindly at the little screen with his comically clumsy thumb. 

“Phil,” he says, softly. 

He can’t bring himself to look at it, just holds it up in what he thinks is the direction of Phil’s face.

Phil squeezes his arms extra tight around Dan. “Sent,” he says, even though Dan already knows.

“Yeah, okay, well, that’s that then. Um.” Dan swallows, squinting his bleary eyes into the light that’s just now coming through the window.

“Proud of you, kid,” Alex says. 

It’s so fucking – small, and ridiculous, and not half of what Alex has done in their life, not half of what Phil’s done either, and –

“It’s fine. Like, if she knows, it’s fine. It’s fine, I’ll just have a boyfriend, and then – I mean, whatever,” Dan babbles. “It would be good. I guess. I’d be – proud of that, right. Like, I could just be a humongous queer, which would just be true, and she’d know, and – um.”

Alex nods. Dan doesn’t like the somber look that’s flitting across their face. He should just be proud of himself. Or he shouldn’t be proud of himself. Whatever. It’s not even a big deal, not really. It shouldn’t register as anything in the first place. It shouldn’t be a whole _thing_ to send his mum a picture of some stupid eggs. 

He doesn’t know why he’s shaking, anyways. He swallows again. 

“Proud of you,” Phil agrees, after a minute. He doesn’t move, even when Dan starts wiggling idly, bouncing against his hold. 

“Thanks,” Dan manages to croak. “Both of you.”

He tries to do the stupid breathing exercises that his old therapist taught him, ages ago. They require sitting still and being patient, which isn’t really his thing, but Phil’s not letting him move or run away or scream or whatever it is he might be doing otherwise.

_One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two –_

“How does it feel to be out to your mum as someone who likes eggs?” Alex says, bursting into the little scrap of calmness that Dan’s built. “Maybe she’ll assume you like eggs and toast? The both of them? Sort of a mum – egg based – MySpace? A breakfast bisexual?”

Dan chokes. He feels Phil snort, feels the way his sharp cheekbone presses against his shoulder blade. Alex is grinning, a bit, with that look like they didn’t entirely mean to say all that.

_“Idiot,”_ Dan sputters. He’d somehow blocked out the fact that he told Alex that story. Alex’s smile just gets wider.

“It’s a big step, Danny,” they say, fake-solemn, barely managing to tug their smile into something that kind of matches. “To tell your mum you like eggs."

Dan’s ribs are all over the place, vibrating and expanding and getting squashed and wanting to run and being calm and laughing all at once. His vision goes blurry, and he wipes roughly at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Fuck,” he wheezes. Alex’s face has softened by the time he surfaces again. “Thanks, you made me cry now.”

“Fun crying, though.”

“What’s fun crying?” Phil finally pipes up from somewhere behind him. “Are you crying, Dan?”

Dan dissolves into laughing again, little ridiculous shrieky hiccups that he can’t get ahold of. Phil laughs, too, even though Dan’s pretty sure it’s mostly at him. 

“You’re so loud,” Phil whispers, tucking a kiss in against Dan’s jaw. 

Alex snorts.

Dan’s phone buzzes. He fumbles for it, all clumsy wiggling fingers that suddenly feel too big for some reason. 

_Aww,_ says the first text.  
 _That’s really good with kale and a bit of feta! Do you remember it? You’ve always loved eggs. :)_

“Feta?” Dan squeaks. 

Phil peers over his shoulder. “Kale, _again?”_

“Oh, god,” Dan mumbles. He puts the phone facedown on the table, finally, leans into Phil with a big breath out. “She says she always knew? I’m really out as a – as an egg – passion – egg passionate person.”

“Sometimes mums just know that you’re – eggsexual,” Phil offers, already giggling at his own joke. 

\--

“I’ll see you in three minutes.”

“You will not.”

“I will,” Phil insists. His lower lip juts a bit, like he’s properly offended. 

“You are not gonna be there in three minutes, because it takes me ten minutes, so that’s thirty minutes in Phil time.”

“I’m gonna fly.”

“You’re gonna fly?”

“I said that,” Phil says. “Yeah. Over the buildings. It’s faster.”

Dan tilts his head, taking in Phil’s sulky scowl, the grim way his face is set even while he says absolute nonsense. 

He leans down, planting a kiss on his pout. He hardly knows how they got to this point, but Phil gives him that soft hum, tilting into Dan’s space like he’s forgotten entirely that they were arguing.

“What kind of wings?” Dan asks softly, just before kissing him again.

“Big ones,” Phil mumbles, mostly into his mouth. He holds his arms out wide to demonstrate, even though Dan can’t actually see. “Big fuck off wings. You’ll see.”

\--

It takes him almost forty-five minutes. It’s not like Dan’s counting. He’s not staring at his phone clock every five seconds, either.

He does let himself fire off a text to Phil, after thirty-four minutes, but – that’s just what boyfriends do. Probably. He’s still practicing.

_hey are u dead?_

_no shut UP_  
don’t talk to me  
impatient 

_you said you could fly babe what happened did your wings break :(_

_UGH_

Dan hides his phone when someone comes in. He thinks his customer service smile is genuine, for once, even if his eyes keep flicking towards the door the whole time.

“Ugh!” Phil says, finally pushing the door open, after the person ahead of him has already gotten their cone and left again. He has his bag with him, slung haphazardly over his shoulder like he’s just learned how to use a backpack.

“Forty-four.”

“I’m keeping both coffees,” Phil announces. “Ungrateful.” He’s already rounding the counter, beelining for the office. 

Dan glances at the door. There’s no one there; it’s been quiet since he opened, and the only person in London who regularly eats ice cream at 10 am has already barged his way behind the counter, anyways. 

He ducks into the office, watching for a moment while Phil tries to balance his laptop on a stack of extremely niche ice cream industry magazines that Sarah’s left for some reason. 

“You’re sure Sarah doesn’t mind?” Phil asks, glancing up with those big eyes. 

Dan shrugs. “She said it’s fine. Just scatter if she wants to escape her kids, is all. And she said she’ll make you make a pamphlet.” 

“I love pamphlets,” Phil says, mostly under his breath. Dan isn’t quite sure if he should take that seriously.

“D’you want anything?” he asks, reaching to take his coffee from where Phil’s left it on the desk.

“No, nothing. Wait,” Phil says, just as Dan is about to go back to the counter. “Kiss me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi buds! That's it I guess - thank you so much for tagging along with me on this adventure.
> 
> First off: huge enormous thank you to Andrea for betaing! <3 They're [@midnightradio](midnightradio.tumblr.com) on tumblr and they've done so much for this fic, I literally don't know how to thank them enough.
> 
> Come find me at [@chickenfreeblog](https://chickenfreeblog.tumblr.com/) if you wanna ask anything or just say hi!


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